


we stand until we scream (and even then we never fall)

by flyingcars



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Harry Potter Gets the Love He Deserves, Slow Burn, Some Plot, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, found family trope, just another do-over fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:26:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 41,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25912066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flyingcars/pseuds/flyingcars
Summary: It became a fucked up game of theirs. It was never meant to be an actual plan."If you could go back in time, who would you save?"
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Comments: 13
Kudos: 310





	1. Chapter 1

Sitting alone in the dark, staring at the dusty wooden floors, wondering what the world looked like beyond the four walls, sat three miserable adults who had once had so much potential, and now had nothing.

"If you could go back in time, who would you save?" Ron had asked one day. 

The others perked up at the question, not only because it was the first time Ron had spoken in weeks. Because it gave them something to think about, other than the death and destruction that consumed them. Other than the fact that they were stuck underground in a freezing cold bunker that smelled persistently of rotten fruit. 

"How far back can we go?" Harry asked dryly. Ron rolled his eyes at the dramatics.  
"You can only save one person," Ron added. 

It became a game of theirs. A fucked up form of distraction.

How long had they been underground without windows, without fresh air, without peeking outside beyond the warded trap door? The resistance was already weak when Aberforth forced them into hiding. It had been so long now, they had to wonder what happened to the other members of the Order. But it wasn’t a question of whether they lived or died, no. It was whether they died quickly or slowly.

The Order was losing long before the trio disappeared. They were barely hanging on as a resistance, with more deserting and more dying every day. They had to stop chasing those who never returned. Some didn’t want to be found, and others… well. 

Losing was inevitable, but they’d be damned if they’d just lie on their stomachs and welcome it. They had failed in protecting those who needed it most, no one pretended otherwise, but dying fighting was better than submitting.

"I'd save Fred," Ron admitted quietly. "If he was here, George wouldn't have volunteered for the experiments, and St Mungo's might still be up."

The Order needed an edge over the Death Eaters and magic only went so far against them. Once the Statute of Secrecy was broken and they started parading through towns on hippogriffs and erumpents and the occasional chimera, the Order had to fight doubly hard over twice the territory, and they crumbled under the strain.

It was a muggleborn’s idea, to mix magic and science. 

Various strengthening potions were created under microscopes inside laboratories. They tried to invade the Department of Mysteries to do research, but the Ministry was too well guarded. Hermione had led the attack, being one of the few witches familiar with the area (two successful attempts at breaking in undetected accounted for something, after all). Two were choked by floating brains, one became stuck in a stare-off with their reflection, Hermione almost suffocated in the room with time-turners, the chains becoming entangled in her hair and around her neck as the gravity stopped working but the necklaces acted like the horcrux of her nightmares. Countless others ended up in the Veil.

So, after many lab trials and hours of Arithmancy and just a little bit of desperation, the strengthening potions were complete and they started handing them out to test. The smaller batches worked fine. Ten minutes. Fifteen. Thirty. It was George who volunteered for a batch meant to last for two hours.

But magic and science don’t mix, because both are volatile at worst and badly understood at best, and something went wrong when inside George’s body for so long. Something caused his cells to mutate and turn his body worse than a crippled man with a hunchback, and it only got worse after the first hour was up. 

Understandably, George ran for St Mungos. No one knows what they did to him there, but something caused everything to go wrong. The hospital blew up, taking a mile in every direction with it. St Mungo's wards collapsed and let loose a wave of biochemical warfare that even the death eaters hadn't expected. There was no one left to cure it.

"I'd save my parents," Hermione whispered. "I know it wouldn't mean much long term -"  
"It has to mean something, otherwise what's the point?" Ron scoffed. Hermione glared.  
"Well, fine, I suppose I'd save Dumbledore," Hermione sniffed. "Then he could clean up this mess."  
"I'd save Sirius," Harry murmured. "So much could have been different if he survived. I wouldn’t have gone back to the Dursley’s. I could have had a family. I could have been happy.”

Ron didn’t bristle at the insinuation like he would have a few years ago. They were past that now. And no one was going to point out the obvious - no one was happy anymore.

Weeks turned into months, and they'd still heard nothing from the outside. The underground panic room was Aberforth's design, Unplottable and protected by blood wards. Since he was the only Dumbledore left, it protected them better than a Fidelius. He had grabbed them by the scruffs of their necks and forced them through the door, and had said in no uncertain terms not to come out. It had everything they could need, except for a supply of fresh food and steady water. They ate canned food. Sometimes the plumbing disconnected for days at a time. They'd taken to keeping the bath full of water just in case.

"I would save Neville, so he could take my place," Harry said bitterly when the toilet refused to flush, again. He slammed the door shut for everyone's sake. The slam ringed through the air for longer than it should have, echoing in their ears. 

"I think we have to leave soon," Hermione murmured.  
"No. You heard Aberforth," Ron growled. "There's nothing we can do."  
"And there's so much we can do here?" Hermione retorted.   
"Stop it," Harry sighed, but it went ignored like usual.  
“We’re running out of food, Ron!”  
"We wait for further instructions," Ron said with finality. 

No one dared ask the question that was all on their minds. A week later, they knew the answer. They woke up feeling naked.

"Do you feel that?" Hermione asked, waking the other two from their uneasy slumbers. They nodded, carefully pulling their wands out from the arm holsters that they never removed.  
"It's like it's lighter in here," Harry said. He exchanged heavy looks with Ron. "Aberforth is gone."  
"We have to leave," Hermione said. 

This time, there were no arguments.

On the surface it was cold and snowy. They had no idea where the bunker opened up, they could only pray that it was still in Scotland. They didn’t bother wasting energy on casting a point me spell. They picked a direction and walked.

And they walked.

There were few signs of life. They walked through a battlefield of blackened earth and charred trees. Bodies of all shapes and sizes littered the earth, mostly goblins, but a few death eaters as well. The snow didn’t cover them yet.

Freezing, barely able to take her arms away from her body in order to do it, Hermione struggled to take a cloak off a fallen wizard.

“W-what are you d-doing?” Ron chattered. He looked queasy at her actions. She faltered.  
“We’ll f-fr-freeze if we d-dont.” 

With a grimace, Ron helped her. Hermione couldn’t bring herself to feel guilty at taking a dead man’s clothes. They found three thick cloaks and wrapped up in them, letting the sleeves fall past their hands, and for a brief moment it was so warm it was heaven. Hermione’s lips twisted into a mockery of a smile. After all they’d been through, she’d be damned if she let exposure kill them all. 

They’d only had the clothes on their backs when Aberforth found them and saved them. It was fine in the bunker; they had blankets and the comfort of recycled air and hot water most days. Outside, they had nothing. Hermione had lost her bag years ago and Harry's moleskin pouch had been burned off his neck and Ron never had much to begin with anyway, and now they had dead men's cloaks’ and hands that could barely finger their wands.

They stumbled upon a deserted town, whether magical or muggle they did not know, and took refuge in the first house they found that wasn’t blown into pieces. They locked the door behind them and ran for the cupboards, searching for anything left to eat. A can of beans stood alone on the shelf, the can dented in the middle so it sat lopsided.

They took it and went to the next house.

A tin of spaghetti, a tiny tin of corn kernels, and beans. That's all the town had left. They reconvened at the best house in town and ate in silence.

When Ron started sneezing, they thought nothing of it. They all had the sniffles.

They moved forward. They couldn't apparate anymore, their magical cores were too weak, but Hermione knew how to drive and they found a set of keys by the door of the house they'd eaten in, and wasn't that glorious? The car had the back window smashed, but otherwise it was in good nick. It had half a tank of gas left and they drove at a leisurely pace, swerving around parked and abandoned cars, Ron holding on to the door for dear life but not complaining. The heating warmed them beyond anything they'd felt since before the bunker.

All too soon it started clanking and cluttering, the heating stuttered off, and they rolled to a stop in the middle of a deserted highway. Hermione choked back her tears as she explained to Ron that the car had no more fuel and couldn’t drive. The only positive was that they could see high rise buildings in the distance, so they must have been nearing some sort of civilisation. They got out of the car, braced themselves against the roaring wind, and began walking down the highway. There were other run down cars scattered over the road but they were too damaged to work anymore. Eventually they just stopped checking every car they passed.

Night fell, Ron began coughing up phlegm, Harry began sneezing, and it was all too much. They reached the city, broke into an apartment through the fire escape and dove under the blankets of the bed. Ron fell asleep almost immediately, his snores catching with every breath, but Hermione tossed and turned.

"It's too soft," Harry murmured to her. It wasn't a question, but she nodded anyway. Compared to the camp beds of their bunker, yes, this was like sleeping on a marshmallow. She dipped uncomfortably in the mattress, and taking away the pillow hadn’t helped. Harry sighed and opened his arms for her to cuddle into. She drifted off to sleep with her head on his chest.

Something was wrong when she woke, and it wasn’t that she hadn’t moved off Harry’s chest. It was too quiet. The silence settled over the room in a suffocating embrace. Hermione lifted her head curiously; Ron was still in bed, asleep. They were okay.

Her eyes flew open again. Ron wasn’t snoring. The smell hit her shortly after that, and she jumped out of bed, dragging Harry with her by the hand.

“Get up, get up!” she shrieked, her voice breaking. Harry stumbled onto the floor, threw up a big shield to cover them both, accio’d his glasses. Hermione began sobbing.  
“Ron!” Harry shouted. Ron didn’t respond. 

Harry froze, his mouth slowly dropping open, his chest heaving. Hermione sobbed once, twice, then grabbed Harry’s hand and yanked. 

They ran from the apartment without a word, ending up on the street. They ran for a block before they had to stop and empty out their stomachs. Harry collapsed a few feet away from his sick, seemingly not noticing the snow melting into his cloak, which was stained with some bodily fluids that Hermione didn’t want to think about. Ron. 

“I can’t do it anymore,” Harry gasped, knees curling up to his chest. He grasped at his hair and rocked back and forth. “I can’t - I’ve had enough - I can’t - not without him -”  
“Harry,” Hermione begged, dropping into the snow beside him on her knees. She grasped at his upper arm.   
“I’ve had ENOUGH!” Harry bellowed. He punched his hands into the snow. “What haven’t I given? I’ve sacrificed everything for - for what? Why am I on this planet just to fucking suffer?”

Hermione’s heart broke as she watched Harry stare at her, desperate for any sort of answer. Then, after his third heaving breath, he began coughing into his hand. 

“Fuck,” he said softly. He pulled away his hand, covered in yellow mucus.

She squeezed her eyes closed for a moment. 

“Come on, Harry, let’s get inside,” she whispered, pulling him up with more strength than she felt, and forcing him to walk with her. The snow had cleared most of the fluids from his cloak, which was the only good thing.

There was a coffee shop with the sign set to OPEN, so Hermione pushed her way inside, unsurprised to find it empty. The display of sweets were covered in mould, but the stained wood tables and chairs made for a nice atmosphere.

Harry slumped over the table and put his head on his arms, his body wracked with sobs as Hermione thought hard. She had a little over 12 hours, based off of Ron’s decline. 

"I wish I could save you," Harry said. His voice cut into her ears, and she realised that he’d wiped away the last of his tears now and was staring at her with green eyes that had never seemed so bright.  
“You don’t need to save me, Harry,” she whispered. Harry scoffed. “I - I think I have a plan.”  
“What? Since when?”

Hermione licked her lips nervously. The chain around her neck sat heavily on her conscience.

“It’s dangerous,” she warned. Harry rolled his eyes.  
“Isn’t it always?” he teased. 

That almost brought a smile to her face. A weight lifted from her shoulders. Harry would do the same for her, if he was in her shoes. Awful things happened to wizards who meddled with time, but no cost was too high anymore. Not now that the Golden Trio was just a Duo. Not now that Hermione was hours off being left alone in this horrible world.

"We go back in time," Hermione whispered. Harry looked at her in shock.  
"We go back in time?" Harry repeated. In the darkened room, he looked much like his old self. She couldn't see the gleam of sweat on his forehead, the chapped lips from exposure.  
"We save everyone," Hermione nodded. “Just like we’ve talked about.”  
“That - that was just talking, ‘Mione, it wasn’t a plan,” Harry argued, but he wasn’t really mad at her, she knew. He was thinking about it. “We can’t save everyone.”  
“But maybe… Maybe one person would be enough to change things,” Hermione murmured. 

She twisted her fingers around each other nervously. It was a stupid, half-baked plan at best, but she was out of time and there was no one left to tell her differently. No one would swoop in and save them this time. This would be on her, and if it all went wrong - well, she wouldn’t be around to see it, anyway.

Harry looked at her doubtfully. "Who?" Harry asked. Hermione shrugged. "I don't - I don't exactly have enough time to plan with you, Hermione. We have to choose."  
"Don't say that," Hermione admonished, but they knew it was useless.   
"Do you have a time turner?" He asked instead. Hermione nodded.   
"But it's special," she explained. "It doesn't go back by hours. It goes by memories."  
"Memories? So we have to go somewhere we've been before?"  
"A moment that we've experienced before. It'll take us right back like a normal turner would."  
"And then what?" Harry asked. He cleared his throat. "We just live in the other timeline until we reach this moment again?"  
"No. If we change something, it will ruin our timeline and we will never come back. We might dissolve entirely and the ghost of us will live on. We might merge into the same person with our memories. We might ruin everything and destroy the world."  
Harry's lips quirked. "Can't be much worse than this, right?"  
"Right."

She twisted the turner through her fingers. There was a little vial in the turner, enough for a single memory. Where would they go?

"We save Dumbledore," Hermione suggested. "He can fix everything. Destroy Him."  
"No, he was getting old anyway, and his hand was cursed," Harry denied. "We save Cedric. We stop Him from coming back to life with Pettigrew."  
"That's too risky, Harry," Hermione huffed. "We don't know anything about the ritual he used. He could just do it another time or place."  
"True. Fine. I don't know. We go back to Hogwarts, first year, and just do it all again."  
"We're too young to do anything, Harry. What if we merge and we still have our memories? Then we'll be eleven years old and just waiting and -"  
"Fine! Where then?"  
Hermione considered. "We save Sirius."  
"What?"  
"Think about it, Harry. We stop you from going to the Ministry. You never lose Sirius. You can live with him and get the family support that you need. He has access to things - gold, vaults, the Wizengamot - We can destroy the locket early."  
"Then He is never revealed as being back and people will still think I'm a liar!" Harry argued. Hermione paused. He had a point.   
"Maybe, if He stays in the shadows, it works better for the Order," Hermione said slowly. "We can work in the shadows too."  
"Assuming we remember what we know now," Harry said. "But… I like the idea of saving Sirius."

Of course he did. He was a sucker for family. But there was not enough time to discuss other options. They had to go back far enough to make a change, but not too far back that it wouldn't make a difference. 

"It's settled then. We save Sirius," Hermione said. "Put a memory in the vial. A moment we can go back to without being noticed before we're ready."  
"After O.W.L's," Harry said. "The twins interrupted them with fireworks, remember? Umbridge was livid."  
Hermione smiled slightly at the memory. She only needed a few seconds of crystal clear recollection for the turner to work.  
"When we're back… then what?" Harry said hesitantly. "What's the plan?"  
"Let's just stop us from going to Sirius first, we may well vanish after that," Hermione said.

Merlin, this was their worst plan ever. And potentially their last. Hermione looked desperately at Harry, pulling him into a hug.

"I love you, Harry. I'm so glad I met you."  
"You too, Mione," he said, pulling out of her arms uncomfortably. He didn't meet her eye as he brought his wand to his temple. Well, not his wand, but one he found and claimed sometime after Big Ben collapsed.  
"Here we go," he said. He poured the memory into the vile. Hermione swung the chain around their necks and spun it once.  
Everything went black.


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione’s head was pounding. She heard the shouts and the cheers before her eyes flew open to see the crowd standing a few feet away from her. They were in the courtyard and students were still streaming out of the Great Hall, desperate to catch a glance at their newest heroes - the Weasley twins. Hermione ducked behind the concrete pillars, shielding herself from view. Harry was on her left, copying her movements.  
“What the fuck,” he breathed ever so softly. “It worked.”  
“We don’t know that for sure,” Hermione said. “Now, where are we?”  
“I’m about to have the vision,” Harry said. “And then we go up to Umbridge’s office. Look!”

He pointed and then there they were, young and healthy and running like their lives depended on it to Umbridge’s office. Hermione and Harry followed them, hearts clenching at the sight of Ron again in all his gangly glory.

“We’re not going to catch them,” Harry gasped, beginning to cough but refusing to stop running.   
“I know,” Hermione said, looking up. They were in the grand stairwell, and she could see herself already climbing the second level. “STOP!”

Harry swore and followed Hermione as quickly as he could. They continued shouting at their past selves until they finally caught up on the third level, past-Harry standing in front of the other two protectively.

“Stay where you are!” Past-Harry bellowed, holding his wand steady. There was no need, really; Harry and Hermione leaned heavily against each other from the effort of chasing them up the stairs. Gods, they were so weak.  
“It’s a trick,” Hermione heard. She forced herself to open her eyes.  
“Please. Please. Listen to us,” she begged, eyeing herself with desperation. Her clean clothes, her messy (but clean and well-looked after) hair.   
“It’s not a trick, we’re really here,” Harry added. He coughed again, lighter than before, swallowing loudly. “Just two minutes of your time.”

Past-Harry cocked his ear towards Hermione, allowing him to whisper in it. Ron stepped forward too, mumbling a little louder, but their voices didn’t carry. They continuously looked over at the two, whispering behind their hands as their eyes razed over their appearance. Hermione could only imagine what they saw. Blood, grime, vomit. What did they smell like? 

“Awful things happen to wizards who meddle with time,” Hermione said, interrupting the trio from their furious whispers. Past-Hermione cocked her brow. “I’m here for a reason.”

Finally, Past-Harry nodded stiffly. As one, they ducked into an empty classroom, Harry and Hermione sighing in the familiarity.

“Who are you?” Past-Harry asked.  
“I’m you, from the year 2002,” Harry gulped. “You’re about to leave for the Department of Mysteries to save Sirius. I’m about to die from the plague.”  
“Plague?” he asked, bewildered.  
“It’s not important,” Hermione shook off.   
“Everything’s important!” Past-Hermione shrieked. “You’ve changed the timeline! Who knows what’s going to happen now?”  
“Which is why we need to be fast,” Hermione snapped at herself. Merlin, did she just hurt her own feelings? “We’re here to do one thing, from there on we don’t know what’s going to happen.”  
“Where am I?” Ron piped up. He looked worried about the answer, but the determined set of his jaw was familiar. “Why’s it just you two?”

Harry and Hermione swapped exasperated looks. Why did they want to know everything? Why couldn’t it be simple? 

“Sit down,” Harry ordered, and the trio obliged without question. Harry opened his mouth to say something, but he choked and nothing came out. Hermione rubbed his shoulder.

“In 2002, we’ve lost,” Hermione said quietly. “So many things went wrong. The plague came from St Mungo’s after… after it blew up. You, Ron, you caught it. And yesterday - yesterday you died.”  
“And now I have it too,” Harry said quietly.   
“You’ve killed us then?” Ron said, standing up and wiping his clothes furiously as if it were a dust bunny he could throw off.  
“No. It takes a lot of exposure,” Harry explained. “Like radioactive rays.”

Ron looked confused, still, but the other two understood.

“Everyone’s gone. We don’t have time to go through it all. Just know that we don’t have any other choice. Losing… Losing Ron was the final straw.”

She was crying again. She wiped her tears away quickly, before landing her eyes on herself desperately.

“How do we know you’re you, us? This could be a trick by Vol-”  
“DON’T!”   
“-demort!”

Harry and Hermione crouched down, arms over each other in a pitiful imitation of a shield, eyes slammed closed. The soft murmur of voices broke through the rushing of wind in their ears, the hard beating of blood through their chests.

Hermione eased open her eyes just to make sure it was safe before she pulled Harry up too.

“It’s tabooed,” she said as explanation for their actions. She was not embarrassed. They would come to know in due time, and she felt bad for them.

Past-Harry was looking at his future self in part disgust, part horror. What could make him stop saying the name that meant so much and so little all at once?

“I think we should trust them,” Past-Harry said finally. The others looked at him unsurely, but ultimately deferred to his judgement, as normal.   
“Don’t save Sirius,” Harry said.  
“No,” his past self said immediately. Hermione scoffed.  
“Sirius is fine. He’s at Grimmauld Place. You-Know-Who is playing with you, with the connection you have. Use the mirror piece in your trunk to communicate with him if you don’t believe us. You’ve forgotten about it.”

Past-Ron and Past-Hermione started whispering together, gesturing wildly with their hands. 

“He’s… He’s not being tortured?” Past-Harry asked. They shook their hands.  
“But if you go to the Ministry, he will die,” Harry urged. “He - Voldemort will come for you. Then everything is lost. So please. Please. Don’t go.”  
“For everyone’s sake, but especially yours,” Hermione begged. She had tears in her eyes again, but they were falling earnestly now, a cathartic release. 

Then all at once, she began fading.

“Harry?” she called, reaching for his hand quickly, suddenly frightened. It didn't hurt, But it felt… cold.  
“Thank you,” Harry said, looking at himself with a small smile on his face. 

**

Harry blinked and found himself staring at the spot he just disappeared from. 

“What just happened?” Ron asked. Hermione shrugged.  
“I - I decided not to go to the Ministry,” Harry breathed. “I decided to check the mirror. Merlin, did they just die? Did we just kill ourselves?”

Harry and Ron looked at Hermione expectantly. 

“I don’t know,” Hermione squeaked. “I don’t - well, if you’ve changed your mind, then they’ve changed the timeline, right? So their future no longer exists, so they no longer exist - so really, they’re not dead, they just… don’t exist!”  
“Right,” Ron snorted. “Do you believe them? 2002 is a bit far away, don’t you think?”  
“I believe them,” Harry said quietly. He was still staring at the place they disappeared from. “I would never stop saying Voldemort’s name unless I had to.”  
“Did you see how they reacted? Like they thought they were about t-to die,” Hermione whispered. Ron grimaced.   
“So I die first? That’s brilliant,” he scoffed. He kicked at the ground mercilessly, stubbing his toe. He swore loudly.   
“Let’s go check the mirror,” Hermione suggested, putting her hand on Ron’s shoulder the way she had seen herself do with the other Harry. It seemed to have the right effect. 

They jogged up to Gryffindor Tower, burst through the portrait (ignoring the Fat Lady's shrill screams about patience!) and entered their dormitory. Harry dove for his trunk, skidding along on his knees. The other two dropped onto his bed, gasping for breath.

"It's here!" Harry shouted, lifting it up in his success. "Sirius? Sirius!"  
Their hearts pumped in their chests as they waited for an answer.  
"Sirius!"  
"Blimey, Harry, what's wrong?"

Harry collapsed on the floor as his godfather came into view. 

"I - I thought I lost you," Harry admitted after a moment. Sirius' expression softened in the mirror.  
"I'm right here. Just helping old Buckbeak out, Kreacher's gone and hurt his claw," Sirius explained. "I'm sorry I haven't written, Harry, it's been -"  
"Voldemort tried to attack us," Harry interrupted. Sirius looked furious.  
"What? I'm on my way!" he said.   
"No! No, stay where you're safe!" Harry demanded. He rose to his knees and rested over the bed on his stomach, holding the mirror so the three of them could see Sirius. "Something crazy just happened."

At Sirius' prompting, Harry told him all about the vision Voldemort planted in his mind, leaving out the part about the visit from his future self. Sirius scowled the longer Harry spoke.

"You've finished your O.W.L’s, yeah?" Sirius said after a moment. Harry shrugged.  
"I fainted in History of Magic, but yeah," he admitted.  
"Close enough. Pack your trunk and stay in the dormitory," Sirius ordered. The background of the mirror whirled furiously. "We're speaking to Dumbledore. Together."

Sirius ended their call and a wave of relief washed over Harry. He looked at Ron and Hermione, suddenly exhausted.

"What a bloody day," Ron grumbled. Harry snickered.

Finally, finally, someone was coming to help. Someone else was taking control. The weight on Harry's shoulders eased knowing Sirius was coming to help bear the load. Harry looked at Ron and Hermione, grateful they had stuck by him more now than ever. Then, cold realisation washed over him.

"I almost killed Sirius," he whispered. Hermione shushed him immediately.  
"No you didn't, Harry," she soothed.   
"We don't know that," Ron added.   
"But we do!" Harry cried. "That's why we came back! Because Sirius died - and - and it started the end of everything! If Sirius dies, we're done for!"  
"That's not true," Hermione said nervously. Harry waited for her to explain. "We - they - said, if you go to the Ministry, he dies. That could mean any number of things."  
"Real helpful, Hermione," Ron muttered. 

Harry tuned them out. He was trapped in endless thoughts about what brought him to be dying from the plague. How many people died? How did his body get so gaunt, so pale, so weak?

It didn't matter. Sirius was fine, he was coming to get Harry, and they were going to fix this together. He didn't know how long it took Sirius to arrive, but the mirror soon warmed in his hand and he lifted it.

"Bloody woman won't let me in," Sirius muttered. Harry could tell he wasn't pleased about it. "Bring your trunk. Come meet me at the portrait."

Harry looked around the room. In his excitement and weariness, he'd forgotten to pack his things. Quickly running around the room and throwing things in there at random, he tried to sit on the lid to force it closed. Ron laughed at him, but Hermione clicked her tongue in distaste and waved her wand to fold the clothes so he could close the lid better. Hedwig’s cage was empty, but he handed it to Ron to take anyway. He led them downstairs. Some students had already trickled back in from the O.W.Ls and were sitting by the hearth. They didn’t look up as they passed.

Clambering out of the portrait, Harry looked around wildly to see his godfather, his stomach dropping when he saw the hall empty.

“Sirius?” he hissed. Suddenly, the air began to wave and Sirius materialised into existence.  
“Disillusionment charm,” he explained, stepping forward to give Harry a big bear hug. He squeezed tighter than Harry could manage, leaving him gasping for breath. He nodded at Ron and Hermione in greeting. “Come on. No time to waste.” 

Sirius began walking, but upon hearing the scrabble of Harry’s case along the stone, paused. He got out his wand and shrunk it small enough to fit in his pocket. Then, he did the same with Hedwig’s cage.

“Really, Harry? It’s an easy spell,” Sirius said, but he was only teasing if the glint in his eyes was any indication. Harry grinned, and they continued on to the giant stone gargoyle standing guard.  
Sirius barely glanced at the gargoyle before whirling to look at Harry. “Well, where is he?” he asked.  
“Huh? Oh, I thought you knew? Umbridge chased him out of the school ages ago,” Harry said, baffled. He thought Sirius was leading them to wherever Dumbledore was hiding.   
“What?” Sirius growled. He let out a sound of frustration. “Fine. McGonagall. Is she still here?”   
“Yeah.”

Sirius took off again. They followed him eagerly.

“How’d you know Dumbledore wasn’t in?” Ron asked as they near-jogged to keep up with Sirius’ pace.  
“Well, the ‘goyle’s eyes are closed,” Sirius responded, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. Ron barked out a laugh.  
“Brilliant,” he said.

McGonagall’s office door was open, even if her chair was empty. Sirius let himself in and sat at her desk, putting his hands behind his head and his feet up on the wood, oozing casualness. Harry, Ron and Hermione hovered around the room, waiting for only a few minutes before the professor appeared.

“Potter, Black. What are you doing in my office?”

Professor McGonagall stood imposingly at the entrance to her office, a twinkle in her eyes as she looked at Sirius. Immediately he took his feet off her desk.

“Biscuit, Minnie?” he said innocently. 

It was as close to amused as Harry had ever seen her. She swept behind her desk, allowed Sirius to hold her seat out for her, before appraising him with the stern look she was so good at giving.

“Sit,” she ordered, waving her wand and conjuring three extra chairs for them to sit on, wooden and straight-backed. Sirius draped himself in the chair beside Harry. “Why are you in my office?”  
“Where’s Dumbledore?” Sirius asked.  
“He has been indisposed by Professor Umbridge,” McGonagall said.   
“The ministry hag?” Sirius snorted derisively. “I want to speak to him.”  
“He does not want to be found.”  
“Well, tough!” Sirius snapped. “His lack of leadership almost got my godson killed!”  
“Harry seems to be in perfect health,” McGonagall said shortly. Sirius scoffed.  
“Tell her, Harry. Tell her about the vision.”

Harry did so, watching McGonagall’s lips become thinner and thinner.

“Are you not undergoing Occlumency sessions with Professor Snape?” she asked briskly, ignoring Sirius’ outraged shout at the name. Harry shook his head. “Then we should restart them at the earliest opportunity.”  
“With all due respect, Professor, that’s not the most pressing thing right now,” Hermione said, looking frustrated. “You-Know-Who just tried to lure Harry out of Hogwarts! And it would have worked, if we hadn’t -”   
“Hadn’t what, Miss Granger?”  
“Hadn’t had our own way of communication,” Sirius interrupted, holding up his part of the mirror. McGonagall barely glanced at it.  
“What would you have me do, Sirius?” McGonagall said. “Professor Dumbledore isn’t here. Voldemort may not even be at the Ministry. I can alert an Order member to look, but then I may be signing their death sentence, and I will not have another death on my conscience.”

There was a heavy silence as they digested that. It was one thing for Harry to throw himself in the line of fire, it was another thing entirely to send an innocent bystander in. He swapped anxious looks with Ron and Hermione.

“I’m taking Harry home with me,” Sirius said firmly.   
“Albus has his reasons for wanting -”  
"What are these reasons?"  
"I can't say for certain, he's never shared -"  
"Precisely, Professor! He's never trusted us enough to share these oh-so-important reasons, and maybe I don't trust him enough to do as he says. He asked me to stay hidden in Grimmauld Place and that is where I have been all year. But I will not sit idly by whilst my godson gets psychologically tortured in what is supposed to be the safest place for him!” he exploded. 

McGonagall watched him with a carefully blank gaze as she considered. Harry held his breath. It felt so good to have his godfather defend him more than anyone had ever done in his life.

“I cannot stop you from your legal right as guardian,” McGonagall said, looking between Sirius and Harry. “But I think it would be wise to expect a visit from Dumbledore sooner rather than later.”  
Sirius bowed his head in recognition.   
“Mr Weasley, Miss Granger, I trust you will be remaining at Hogwarts until the train departs?"  
"Yes Professor."  
"Then it's settled. Sirius, please stay in my office whilst Mr Potter collects his things."  
"No need, we've got everything already," Sirius said, patting his pocket.   
"Well, at least cast a disillusionment charm until you leave the castle for the sake of the other students!" 

McGonagall sighed in a long-suffering way. Sirius merely replied with a cheeky grin, bid farewell, and followed Harry out. Once out of sight of McGonagall's office, Sirius tapped his head with his wand and slowly disappeared.

"We're gonna miss you, mate," Ron said jovially, clapping Harry on the shoulder.  
"Promise us you'll write!" Hermione begged.  
"Of course, Hermione. And promise you'll come visit!"  
"Oh, for sure, wouldn't miss it."

Harry was more excited for the upcoming summer than ever before. It was like a dream as they exited the castle and headed to the main gates. A few determined fireworks still floated feebly through the air, but the crowds had almost entirely dispersed. No one looked at them closely enough to see Sirius' charm, which he shook off at the gates.

"We'll be in touch," he said. "You're welcome anytime. And - and thanks. For Harry."  
"Thank you," Hermione smiled. She ducked forward for a hug, letting Sirius drop a kiss on her hair. Ron stepped forward as well.  
"Look after Harry," he said firmly. He grinned over Sirius' shoulder at Harry. "He gets into trouble easily."

They all chuckled. Harry hugged his friends goodbye, then looked up at Sirius.

"Let's go," he said. 

Together they stepped past the gates, the wards tingling them as they went through. Harry turned to look at his friends one last time; Hermione, teary eyed but smiling, and Ron, waving happily. Sirius rested his hand on his shoulder and they disapparated. 

Despite the nausea, Harry had never been more thrilled to have left Hogwarts. He looked up at the door to Grimmauld Place and smiled. He was never going back to the Dursley's. 

Sirius told him to pick a room and get settled in, passing over the miniaturized trunk and cage from his pocket. He enlarged them for Harry and headed upstairs, yelling for Kreacher to bring some things to the attic. 

After evaluating all the rooms, he chose the room Hermione and Ginny stayed in. It felt the most welcoming, even if the wallpaper was peeling in more than one place. He began unloading his trunk, using an old t-shirt of Dudley’s to wipe away the dust that settled over the shelves. He didn’t have a lot of things, but it looked like in his hurry to pack that he’d grabbed everything important. His wand was in his pocket. He’d write to Ron to get his broom from Umbridge. Hedwig would find her way home. And, lastly, but not least importantly, the mirror that saved Sirius’ life rested on the bedside table. 

WIthout much more to do but astounded with his newfound freedom, he wandered around the manor, half expecting to snap awake at any second. It was with this vague notion in mind that he wandered into the attic, where Buckbeak was curled up on a pile of straw. It stunk to high heaven in there, but Sirius had managed to keep it contained to the one room, at least.

“I”ll be down in a sec, Harry,” Sirius called, his voice muffled. Harry ducked in to see Sirius wrapping sticky blue bandages around the hippogriff’s rear hoof.   
“What happened to Buckbeak?” Harry asked, bowing at the beast and waiting for the responding head tilt before entering.  
“I told you, Kreacher hurt him,” Sirius growled. “I’ll have to have a chat with that stupid elf again. He’s been more miserable than usual.”  
“Kreacher did this? What, by choice?” Harry asked, astounded.   
“Elves still have free will, you know. They can make their own choices, even if they have to obey.”

Harry frowned. He’d never heard of house elves acting maliciously. Then, he hadn’t really paid any attention in History of Magic before. But he knew better than to argue.

“Quit thinking so hard, you’ll kill what little brain you have,” Sirius joked, getting to his feet with a little jump. Harry laughed.  
“I was just thinking, Hermione has never mentioned any elves being evil before,” Harry admitted. Sirius looked at him thoughtfully.  
“She’s a smart girl, and she’s right,” Sirius admitted. The tension Harry held in his shoulders disappeared. “Their magic relies on them obeying their masters. I think Kreacher’s just been holed up here with that bloody portrait too long.”  
“Maybe,” Harry hummed.

Sirius stiffened. Harry automatically danced away into the hallway, out of the way of what was sure to be an angry stomp down the stairs, shouting about how Harry didn’t know enough and to mind his own business. He had to force himself to remember that he wasn’t with Uncle Vernon anymore.

“Someone’s here,” Sirius murmured. He shot a look at Harry and waved him closer. “Three guesses who.”  
“Dumbledore?”  
“Dumbledore.”

Sirius stomped downstairs to the main lobby, Harry hot on his heels, pausing a few feet behind his godfather once he caught sight of the wizard in his trademark purple robes. He looked well for someone who should have been in hiding.

“Sirius, Harry. I pray my presence is not entirely unwelcome,” Dumbledore smiled. He waited a few moments, waiting for Sirius to greet him or invite him in further, perhaps. He soon spoke again. “Are we waiting for the Aurors to come whisk me away?”  
“That remains to be seen. What are you doing here, Dumbledore?”  
“I wanted to ensure Harry’s safety, of course. It’s not everyday you storm Hogwarts, after all.”

Harry could almost see Sirius’ hackles rise as they stared each other down. Finally, Sirius sighed heavily, dramatically, leaning against the staircase with an ease Harry could never achieve.

“Say what you came to say, then,” he commanded. Dumbledore’s serene smile didn’t drop, but he did sober.  
“I must insist Harry return to the Dursley residence at once,” he said quietly, looking at Sirius with his piercing stare. “It is essential to his safety.”  
“Why?”   
“That would be quite difficult to explain. Perhaps we could sit?”  
“Perhaps we could stand instead. Harry and I were just heading out, anyhow,” Sirius said, grinning over his shoulder at Harry. “Going to pay these Dursley’s a visit. I don’t think I’m too impressed with the way they’ve been treating my godson.”  
Dumbledore’s gaze flicked to Harry briefly before resting on Sirius. “Be that as it may, the safety they provide far outweighs any magic I could perform,” Dumbledore admitted.  
“Well, by all means, Dumbledore, share with the class this amazing magic that only muggles possess,” Sirius invited sarcastically. 

Harry held his breath whilst Sirius waited, somehow excited and terribly anxious all at the same time. Was he about to find out why he’d been banished to the muggle world every summer without explanation or apology? After being ignored by the Headmaster all year, with more glances in his direction in the last five minutes than in the last six months, Harry still felt angry and resentful towards him - would this information be enough to make Harry forgive him?

Dumbledore merely looked pleadingly at Sirius, standing in silence. That enraged Harry even further.

“What a shame,” Sirius scowled. “Unfortunately, you are not Harry’s guardian. Make no mistake, Dumbledore. I am grateful for the protection you have afforded Harry during my absence in Azkaban. But, as per your promise, my name will be cleared by the time Harry gets his O.W.L results. Therefore, I will take responsibility as guardian and look after Harry like James and Lily wanted.”

Harry had never been able to tell what was going on in Dumbledore’s head, but he got the distinct impression that he was thinking very hard.

“Perhaps we could come to a compromise. Harry could return to the Dursley’s until his O.W.L results are delivered, then he can stay with you until the start of term,” he suggested.   
“Well, Harry, what do you think of that plan?” Sirius asked lightly. Harry, not expecting to be spoken to during this conversation, jolted in surprise.  
“Uh, well, I don’t - I don’t know, I’d rather not, but if I have to - ”  
“There you have it, he doesn’t want to!” Sirius roared triumphantly. 

Dumbledore looked disapprovingly at Sirius.

“This is not the time for games, Sirius. Harry is still underage. It is up to us to make sure he remains safe.”  
“Are you saying that Harry isn’t old enough to make his own choices?” Sirius demanded.   
“He’s fifteen.”  
“So was I,” Sirius said quietly. 

It was the most agitated Harry had ever seen Dumbledore, but he didn’t dare interrupt. Sirius was fighting for him - really digging in his claws and fighting, not letting Dumbledore take charge because Harry had said he didn’t want to go. Who had ever done that much for him besides Ron and Hermione?

“I hereby rescind my offer of using this premises as headquarters to the Order of the Phoenix,” Sirius said suddenly, his voice taking on an authoritative tone. “As the only living direct descendent of the Black family I take claim to the title of Lordship.”   
“A disowned descendant cannot be given Lordship,” Dumbledore said apologetically, bowing his head.  
“I can since I’m the last living male descendant, from the direct line,” Sirius rebutted. “I also humbly request that you leave the premises, taking all the charms you placed with you."  
"I do not think it is wise to leave Harry unprotected."  
"I will be protecting Harry without your assistance. The last time I trusted you to protect a Potter, it got them both killed."

Harry saw Dumbledore flinch slightly. 

"The faster you fulfill your promise to me, the easier it will be for me to protect Harry. Clear my name and then we can discuss adding your protective measures. Now, leave. Before I force you to."

Sirius stared unwaveringly as Dumbledore flicked his eyes between them. Harry wondered, briefly, what was going through his mind. Sirius certainly seemed to think it was nothing good. Dumbledore bared his hands and a cold wave of wind ran through the house. Somehow, Harry felt like he was able to breathe more easily.

"We will have to leave it here, then," Dumbledore said with a tone of regret. "You are no longer protected by the Fidelius charm, and I have disabled all the wards I placed on this building. Harry, I trust I will see you back at Hogwarts in the new term, if not before." 

Harry waved slightly in response. He didn't really understand the power play that happened before his eyes, but he was grateful for it. Dumbledore showed himself out and Sirius sighed in relief.

"What was that all about?" Harry asked eagerly. Sirius smirked over his shoulder, calling for Kreacher to make them some lunch, and heading down to the kitchen to watch it happen.

"Dumbledore is a master at many things, Harry, but above all, he is a manipulator. He keeps people who are useful to him close, and once you lose your usefulness, you cease to exist. It was obvious during the first war who his favourites were. Not everybody was afforded the same protection as James and Lily."

Harry listened with rapt attention. He had never considered Dumbledore to be anything but an ally. 

"When I was in Azkaban, I had nothing to do but think. And I realised that my only hope of getting out was Dumbledore. But did he come see me? Try to write me? No. And I had to wonder why that was. I may not be right, but I believe I am. I think I wasn't useful to him so he deserted me."  
"That's awful, Sirius," Harry whispered. He waved the concern away.  
"When you grow up in a family like mine, you learn to take things people say with a grain of salt," he said. He leaned forward and put his hand on Harry's shoulder. "I've been through a lot of bad things, Harry, and I never want you to go through half of it. You deserve better than what has been given to you. I've been to healers and mind healers all year, under disguise of course, but all the same, I've been trying to be better -"  
"Are you sick?" Harry demanded. He only just got Sirius back, if he was about to go…  
"No. Azkaban leaves people feeling… odd. But I've been really good lately. I promise."

Harry smiled at his godfather. It seemed there was finally one adult who cared more about Harry than what he had to offer. 

"What if Dumbledore doesn't clear your name?" Harry asked after a moment. Sirius shrugged.  
"Hogwarts isn't the only school in the world, you know. We could enrol you in Beauxbatons, see how fast he clears my name then."

Harry laughed, but his stomach twisted uncomfortably. Sirius seemed to notice his unease.

“I’m just joking, Harry. You belong at Hogwarts,” he grinned. “Dumbledore will clear my name because he loves you.”  
Kreacher served them ham and pea soup. Harry pushed it around with his spoon.  
“So?” Harry asked. He didn’t understand what Sirius seemed to think was so obvious.  
"You are the one thing Dumbledore cares the most about right now," Sirius said after a moment. "In order for me to look after you, I have to use his love for you to my advantage. Does that make sense? If he doesn't clear my name then you'll be in hiding with me too, and that's not nice."  
"I wouldn't mind," Harry mumbled, but he sort of saw Sirius’ point.   
"You deserve the best of the world, Harry, and I want to give it to you," Sirius said. With a small smile, he dug into his own soup, then spat it out. "What the hell is this, Kreacher? Are you trying to poison me?"

Kreacher began mumbling to himself, his back toward Sirius. 

"Speak up!" Sirius commanded.  
"Not poison," Kreacher spat.   
"And is this something you deem worthy to serve to your master?" Sirius snapped.  
Kreacher mumbled something quietly. Sirius ordered him to say it again, slowly and clearly.  
"Masters would not treat Kreacher like this."

Sirius swapped heavy looks with Harry, but Harry didn't understand the significance. 

“Masters?” Sirius repeated. 

Kreacher looked like he swallowed something sour. 

"Kreacher is bound to serve the noble house of Black."  
"That's right, Kreacher. But as of today, I am not just your master, I am the Lord of this household. I command you to tell me the truth, and the whole truth. Are you serving another?"  
"Yes. Mistress Bella and Mistress Cissy," Kreacher cried, dropping to the floor and banging his head on the ground relentlessly. Harry jumped up to stop him, but Sirius did nothing, watching with an impassive look on his face.

"Make him stop, Sirius," Harry begged, watching the bump on Kreacher's head grow in front of his eyes.   
"No." Sirius pursed his lips. "Kreacher has betrayed us. He has left his house without permission and taken orders from our enemy. What did they order you to do, Kreacher?"

Kreacher wailed and began speaking too fast for Harry to follow. Sirius seemed to understand though, nodding along occasionally.

"You have brought shame upon your house, Kreacher. Harry, bring me some clothes."  
Harry jumped but prepared to take off his shoe to hand over his sock.  
"NO!" Kreacher cried. "No, Master, you mustn't! Kreacher has been a bad elf but he will punish himself mercilessly until his master is happy, yes he will."  
"And which master will you make happy, Kreacher? Me? Or Voldemort?"  
Kreacher tugged at his ears, curling up on the floor and rocking.   
"I live to serve the noble house of Black!" Kreacher sobbed. "And my master resides within number twelve, Grimmauld Place, as have his ancestors and mine!"  
“Sirius,” Harry interrupted. Sirius looked over at him after a moment. “What are you doing?”   
“Wait here until I return,” Sirius ordered Kreacher. He sniffled but obediently sat on the floor, his legs stretched out in front of him and his pot belly bulging.

Harry led Sirius out into the hall before he started whispering furiously. “Sirius, what are you doing?”  
“I don’t actually plan on freeing him, Harry,” Sirius said, rolling his eyes.   
“What?”   
“He knows too much about the Order, he’s a huge security risk. But threatening to release him? It’s the highest dishonour an elf can have.”  
“But doesn’t he know that you’re just pretending?” Harry asked, bewildered.  
“No. He doesn’t think like humans do. To an elf who’s been in service for as long as Kreacher has, it’s practically a death sentence.”

Harry gaped like a fish, unable to join the image of Sirius defending him with Sirius threatening an elf. They contradicted each other. But, having obviously decided the conversation was over, Sirius returned to the kitchen. Harry followed after a brief moment, seeing Kreacher standing at attention at Sirius’ feet.

“And don’t you forget it,” Sirius spat. “You will improve your behaviour. No more sneaking out of the house. No more serving anyone not under this roof. Harry is my godson and will receive this house when I am gone; therefore, you serve him too. Do you understand?”  
“Yes, master,” Kreacher sobbed, bowing deeply so his nose touched the ground. “Kreacher will be the best elf.”  
“I hope so,” Sirius sniffed. “Now get to work cleaning this place. I’m sick of living in a bloody cell.” 

He dismissed Kreacher with a turn of his back. And, for the first time, Harry wondered if Hermione might have been on to something with SPEW.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry tossed and turned in his bed, staring at the poster of the Holyhead Harpies Ginny had left behind that waved at him. He wanted to write to her to see if she was okay. To see how her O.W.Ls went. To talk about Sirius. To know how Umbridge was going. The position of DADA professor was cursed, as all students suspected, but Umbridge was more than that, wasn’t she? Acting Headmistress. Did the curse extend? They could only hope.

The morning brought a howler hissing at Harry and Hedwig back on her perch, her head tucked under her wing. The red envelope steamed on Harry’s chest until he opened it. His stomach twisted. He had never received one before, having no magical family to send it. Unless it was from Mrs Weasley? His stomach twisted again. It began to shake so Harry opened it.

“Harry! Sorry to send a howler but I’m too excited to write! The most amazing thing happened last night, you’ll never guess! After you left, I realised that you’d left your broom behind in Umbridge’s office, so I convinced some of the DA to break into her office and get it, so me, Ginny, and Neville went in whilst Hermione and Luna kept watch. But then! Umbridge came and found us and for some reason she thought we were trying to make contact with Dumbledore, and Hermione and Luna got caught by bloody Malfoy so we were trapped in her office, and she was threatening us with veritaserum, and Hermione had this brilliant plan where she said they were trying to make contact with Dumbledore to activate his secret weapon - and Umbridge was all, SECRET WEAPON? SHOW ME! So me and Hermione led her to Grawp in the forest, and the centaurs started attacking Umbridge cause of all the legislation she’d been putting through on them, and then she got taken into the forest! We haven’t seen her since. Oh, blimey, I almost forgot. Ginny hit Malfoy with her bat bogey hex in Umbridge’s office so the Inquisitorial Squad has officially disbanded. Anyway, we just overheard McGonagall say something about rescuing Umbridge from the forest, so I’ll let you know what happens. Sad you missed it, Harry!”

The howler let out a giant raspberry and dissolved into flames on Harry’s chest. It seemed like the first major thing to happen at Hogwarts without him, and he missed it a little. Is this what it was like, hearing things second-hand? At least Ron had remembered to include him. 

Harry got up and made his way down to the kitchen. He’d slept later than usual without his Hogwarts roommates to wake him, but it was still only nine. Sirius was in the kitchen, sipping a steaming cup of purple liquid Harry hoped was tea.

“Sleep well?” he greeted. Harry nodded. “Good. I hope you’re hungry. Kreacher’s been slaving away at this omelette for ages, making sure it was perfect for you.”

He tilted his head over to the corner, where Kreacher stood on a rickety stool to reach the burners. He was in a freshly-pressed apron. His pillow-sack was pristine white, the hair in his ears was fluffy, and he didn’t have a speck of snot on him. Harry looked around the kitchen curiously - every surface gleamed, shining under the lights. Had Kreacher been up all night scrubbing?

“It’s fine as is,” Harry murmured, and Kreacher served it on a plate for him. He was wrinkly as always, but his eyes were a little more bloodshot than normal. “Get some rest, Kreacher. You look awful.”

Kreacher bowed low to both Harry and Sirius before snapping out of the room. Sirius sipped his mug loudly, smirking when Harry shot him a glare.

“Dumbledore sent me a summons from the Wizengamot,” Sirius said conversationally. Harry perked up.  
“What does that mean?”  
“He’ll be pleading my innocence and clearing my name in front of the Wizengamot tomorrow.”  
Harry grinned at Sirius.   
“Gotta get myself some new robes though,” Sirius sighed. “I haven’t needed to, since I’ve been holed up here all year, but I think the occasion calls for it. If they accept my title of Lordship tomorrow as well, I’ll be in the papers for weeks.”

Harry rolled his eyes at Sirius’ grandiose tone, but he was happy for him nonetheless.

"Perhaps you'd be willing to get them for me? Fancy a trip to Diagon?"  
"What, by myself?"  
"You're old enough, aren't you?" Sirius lifted a brow. "Blimey, Harry, James and I would have jumped at the idea of going somewhere alone at fifteen."

Harry laughed uncomfortably. He was more than capable of going alone, it's just that… well… he hadn't ever gone without meeting up with the Weasley's. 

"Yeah, alright, I can go," Harry said. Sirius smiled and pulled out a catalogue from his pocket, crumpled so the witches on the front were sneering at him. Sirius ignored them as he flipped to a page he'd dog-eared.   
"These are probably the nicest ones at the moment, and they're self-adjusting," Sirius said. They were black with red stitching, a matching red neck scarf. Harry didn't know much about robe fashion, but he thought it looked a bit like a pirates costume.   
"Okay," Harry shrugged. It was from Madam Malkins, which was easy enough for Harry to get.  
"Here's a vault transfer slip," Sirius said, passing over a square slip of parchment with some runes on it. Harry stared at it blankly. Were his galleons not enough?  
"Hand this over and it'll come out of my vault," Sirius explained, obviously catching on to Harry's confusion. "It's how I paid for your firebolt, you know."

Harry nodded and placed the slip inside the pocket of his jeans. 

“Floo’s open. Wish I could come with you.”

Sirius looked a bit dejected but Harry didn’t have any comforting words, so he merely grimaced back at his godfather. At Sirius’ advice, Harry sought to miss the lunchtime rush and headed off as soon as he could, shouting out his farewell in the drawing room.

“Wait, wait!” Sirius rushed into the room with a bundle of fabric over his arm. “Going out without a cloak? You’ll catch a cold!”

Without waiting for permission, Sirius draped a thick cloak over Harry’s shoulders, using the silver clasp to fasten it tightly around his neck. Then, Sirius whipped out a camera with a large flash and took a photo of Harry.

“Harry’s first cloak!” Sirius wailed dramatically. He pulled the polaroid photo out of the camera impatiently, pulling it to his chest in a cuddle. “I’m looking after your son, James, I promise I’m gonna be a great dad!”

Harry chuckled at Sirius’ dramatics, but his heart warmed all the same. Rolling his eyes, he grabbed a handful of floo powder from the crystal jar on the mantle and stepped into the green flames, calling out for the Leaky Cauldron.

The pub was practically empty, but Harry instinctively tucked his head anyway. He hurried out into the sunlight alley, lifting his face to the sun instinctually. Summer was upon them, and the cloak Sirius forced upon Harry sat heavy on his shoulders. He worked up a light sweat as he walked towards Madam Malkins, avoiding the casual shoppers eyes. He found that no one looked at him twice, even though he was the only school-aged kid walking around alone. 

“Potter.”

Harry looked up in shock upon hearing his name. The woman’s voice sounded surprised, but Harry would recognise that snobby drawl anywhere.

“Mrs Malfoy.”

Narcissa looked as she always did; graceful blonde hair coiffed into a bun resting on the nape of her neck. She stood tall in her tailored robes that Harry presumed were of the highest quality from Twilfitt and Tattings. Surprisingly, she stood alone.

“Running amok during the school term? Didn’t you know it’s quite dangerous to be out alone?” Narcissa drawled. Harry narrowed his eyes.  
“And what about you? Where’s your husband?” Harry asked. Unfortunately, his retort didn’t have nearly enough sting in it to be insulting. Narcissa cocked her brow.  
“Unlike you, I do not need a babysitter,” she sniffed. 

Her eyes drifted over Harry’s cloak, looking closely at the clasp near his neck, the threading along the edges. 

“Where did you get that?” 

Harry’s eyes widened. Then, he clapped a hand over his forehead in pain. Not now, he thought desperately, squeezing his eyes shut in pain, but that only allowed him to see the imagery clearer. 

Blond hair tied back into a ponytail. Black marble flooring. A pulsing rage that wasn’t his own.

“What in Circe’s name..?”

“We went over the trap, Lucius… Please explain to me why Potter did not come?  
“My lord…” Lucius was on his knees, quivering. “The elf was quite certain that Black was the only one the boy would come for.”  
“Excuses!”

Harry gasped back to his own reality, only to find himself submerged in darkness. He fumbled until his fingers grasped the heavy black material of his cloak that was covering his head. A cold hand gripped his wrist.

“Stop!” Narcissa snapped. She said something else, but Harry couldn’t hear her.

“Silence,” Voldemort hissed. “It was silly of me, to rely on the word of an elf. They are useful creatures, but not to be trusted with something as large as this.”   
“We will try again -” Lucius interrupted, but he fell silent at Voldemort’s raised hand.  
“I have wasted so many opportunities,” he said softly. “Every time, they go awry. I cannot help but begin to wonder why that is.”  
“I do not know, my lord.”  
“Don’t you?”

Voldemort’s blood pumped through his veins, almost hurting as it pulsed, yet Voldemort only twisted his lips in a mockery of a smile.  
“There is a common factor in all my plans, Lucius. Would you like to guess what it is?”

Lucius shook his head in confusion.

“You.”

Lucius cringed before Voldemort said the dreaded incantation. Flinching away from Voldemort’s wand, Lucius grunted when the spell hit him, ducking his head into his chest. Harry felt Voldemort’s rage flare and with it so did Lucius’ screams; he dropped to the floor and curled into a ball, screaming and screaming and screaming -

Harry’s face was stinging. He blinked away the tears in his eyes and ripped the cloak off his head. 

“Are you trying to suffocate me?” Harry huffed. Narcissa was stretching her fingers, clenching them in and out of a fist. She had slapped him.  
“You were causing a scene,” she hissed. Harry gaped.  
“Voldemort is attacking your husband!” Harry cried. Narcissa blanched, but otherwise didn’t react. “He’s - he’s mad, and thinks Lucius is to blame!”

Narcissa stood stoically. Slowly, she placed her hands in front of her, the perfect picture of poise.

“You are but a child, Potter,” she said in a tone that was more like a warning. “Spouting lies will get you nowhere.”

She spun on the spot and disapparated with a loud crack. Harry fell against the stone wall, sinking to the ground to rest his legs. In the midst of his vision, Narcissa had shoved them down a back alley that opened to the rear entrances of many shops. Harry took several heaving breaths to centre himself. He no longer felt like Voldemort was hovering over his shoulders, breathing fury and rage into his bloodstream, but he was exhausted.

A chill ran down his spine at a single thought. What would have happened if he’d gone to the Ministry?

All of Harry’s plans to explore Diagon Alley flew out the window. He no longer wanted to linger and look at the window displays, or browse the book store with no intention of buying, but simply because he had the freedom to. No, now he just wanted to go home. He tied his cloak around his neck and pushed off the ground, hurrying towards Madam Malkins. 

Inside the shop was cool and Harry rejoiced, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. A voice called out from somewhere in the back.

“Be there in a moment!”

Harry entertained himself by browsing the collection of robes on display. He spotted the robes Sirius had asked for immediately; they were in the window on a mannequin that moved slowly into various poses, the robes tightening and loosening in an exaggerated fashion. A pair of pure white robes caught Harry’s eye and he was moving towards them when Madam Malkin spoke.

“A modern twist on a traditional design,” she said with a small smile. Harry lurched away from the mannequin hurriedly, feeling like he was in trouble despite not touching anything. “Bit young for marriage, aren’t you, love?”  
“Yes, definitely,” Harry said quickly. He pointed at the mannequin sporting Sirius’ robes. “I was asked by my - by somebody - to get those robes in the window.”  
“The red?”

Harry nodded and dug the transfer slip out of his pocket, half listening to the older woman.

“Very nice robes, these are, especially if you need to look nice in a pinch. Nothing against the traditional style you’re wearing, of course, but they can be hard to tailor, especially in these modern times,” Madam Malkin said. She was wrapping the robes up in brown paper on the counter, a red ribbon floating behind her ready to tie. “You know, I have the perfect pair of robes for you here, you can even attach your family heirlooms and I can copy the stitching almost exactly, no one will ever know the difference.”  
Harry jolted. “Excuse me?”

Madam Malkin clicked her tongue disapprovingly. 

“Can I interest you in another pair of robes?” she said simply. Harry shrugged. He’d never really needed any, and didn’t fully understand what wizards wore on a casual basis anyway, but he also didn’t have any robes other than his school ones, and if Sirius was going to be in the paper…  
“Actually, yes,” Harry said decisively. Madam Malkin lit up, dragging Harry away from the counter.  
“Harry, I knew I liked you,” she smiled. “Ever since you first walked into my shop, barely eleven years old, I knew you were a sweet thing!”

Stifling his sigh, Harry allowed Madam Malkin to push him up onto an elevated platform and let the measurement tape quickly but carefully take his height, shoulder width, waist, diagonally across his chest, around his ankles, and more. 

The excited witch held up robe after robe for Harry to admire, but there was one that caught his eye the most. 

“I’m not surprised you like this one,” Madam Malkin chuckled. “It’s similar to the one you’ve already bought. It has a matching cloak, too, but I can’t attach your heirlooms to it.”  
“What heirlooms?” Harry asked. Madam Malkin tilted her head curiously.  
“Well, the clasp of your cloak, of course,” she said, leaning forward to tap it with her long nails.  
“I don’t think this is an heirloom,” Harry said, making her chuckle.  
“Sorry, love, but I’m quite sure it is. The cloak is good, heavy material, and the silk lining is of excellent quality, hinting at Sacred Twenty-Eight fashion, at the very least. But the engravings on the clasp give it away first.”

Surprised, Harry looked closer at the silver clasps, seeing the outline of a bird on both of them. It was faint, though, and he almost couldn’t see it.

“It’s a bird,” he said, nonplussed.  
“They’re crows, symbols of the Black family,” Madam Malkin tutted. She tapped her glasses with her wand. “You learn these things after being in the industry for a while.”

Madam Malkin looked at Harry sadly. Though not unused to these pitying looks, Harry shifted uncomfortably all the same. She shook herself out of her reverie.

“Typically, Sacred Twenty-Eight head to Twilfitt and Tattings, the posh bastards, so you can imagine how thrilled I am not only to be serving a Black descendant, but Harry Potter himself!” 

Harry smiled and nodded graciously. Madam Malkin continued to chat happily about other clients she’d served and the best materials she had, but Harry tuned her out. He was too confused. Had Sirius given him an heirloom deliberately? Were there Potter heirlooms lying around somewhere, waiting for him to claim them?

Madam Malkin wrapped up Harry’s purchases and placed them in a bag tied shut with an extra big silk bow. She winked as she handed it over, accepting the vault transfer slip without question, wished him a good day, and showed him out. Harry breathed a sigh of relief as the sun hit his face. He got more than he bargained for walking into that store.

Harry wandered down the street, his cloak strung messily through the handles of the bag so he didn’t have to wear it. He looked at Gringotts, towering over the other shops, and considered entering his vault. He’d never really dug around in there, and he’d seen things that weren’t galleons or knuts. But… another time. Florean Fortescue’s ice-cream was calling his name.

Some time later, Harry dumped his shopping onto the seat beside him and dug into a triple-scoop monstrosity of chocolate sauce, pecan nuts and pixie dust. He was enjoying it when something slipped into his peripheral vision, sliding across the table to a perfect stop in front of him.

An envelope.

Harry lifted it curiously, a pearlescent shine reflecting in the sunlight. Ink appeared as if someone invisible was writing; For Sirius, it read before quickly disappearing. Looking up, Harry couldn’t see anybody nearby, but it wasn’t a hard guess to know who it was from.

Sighing, Harry resolved to go home. After he finished his ice-cream, of course. 

*

Harry called out for Sirius once he’d passed the awful portrait of Walburga, finding him in the study pouring over old Daily Prophet’s. He barely glanced up as Harry entered and passed over the letter.

“Did you get the robes okay?” he asked.  
“Yeah.”  
“What’s this?”

Sirius ripped into the envelope before Harry could answer. Inside it was a single piece of parchment, not even folded to fit, but no ink on it. Sirius tapped it with his wand and revealed some cursive writing, which he read quickly before snorting and crumpling it in his hand.

“Had an interesting day, I take it?” Sirius asked Harry, to which he shrugged.  
“I guess you could say that,” he said. “Madam Malkin seemed to think I was wearing some heirlooms.”

Sirius smirked a little.

“And Narcissa?” he prompted.  
“Bit rude,” Harry said truthfully, making Sirius laugh. “Listen, Sirius, I saw something in Diagon - ”

Harry paused. As much as he wanted to discuss his vision with Sirius, he also didn’t want to be a burden. Sirius had immediately looked concerned by Harry’s tone, and whilst it warmed Harry’s heart to know that Sirius cared, it wasn’t worth worrying him about. What if he decided Harry was too much trouble, too much effort, and sent him back to the Dursleys?

"Yes?" Sirius prompted.  
"I saw… Narcissa," Harry finished lamely. "She wanted to know where I got the cloak."  
Sirius narrowed his eyes and returned his gaze to the letter, a crumpled mess on his desk. "Aye, well, it's her father's, innit?" Sirius said. "My uncle Cygnus. He left it here when we were kids." 

Harry had many more follow up questions, but it wasn’t the most pressing thing on his mind. Sirius wasn't too forthcoming with the information, anyway, which Harry knew meant it wasn't his business.

“Are there Potter heirlooms?” Harry asked.

With the sympathetic look that crossed Sirius’ face, Harry almost wished he didn’t ask.

“I don’t think so. The Potter family was pretty widespread and not as traditional as mine,” Sirius said, tapping his chin with his wand absently. “They’re not included in the Sacred Twenty Eight, anyway, so any heirlooms wouldn’t be worth much anyway.”  
“That’s not why -”  
“- you asked, yeah, I know,” Sirius smiled. “James only ever mentioned the bloody Sleekeazy stuff his dad made. But we can look in your vault, you never know.”  
“Yeah, maybe.”

Dismissing himself, Harry wandered around the manor in a daze, pushing the thoughts of heirlooms aside. Voldemort had planned something at the Ministry and blamed Lucius for it’s failure. Lucius blamed the elf - the elf, Kreacher, who was feeding the Malfoy's information. Black was the only one the boy would come for, Lucius had said. 

His future self had been right. Voldemort was using Sirius as bait to get him to the Ministry, but for what? And how did that lead to Sirius' death if he had been safe at home?

Thoughts swam in Harry's mind all day, even when he tried to nap, even when he tried to help Kreacher polish the silverware and got a broom over the head for it. Feeling useless and restless, Harry was glad when night fell and he could rest.

And even if he dreamed of the black door and a glass ball and red eyes, it was better than walking around the manor aimlessly.


	4. Chapter 4

In the morning, Sirius rapped on Harry's door and peeked in. Half awake already, Harry forced himself to sit upright.

"Not sleeping naked, are you?" Sirius joked, waiting for Harry to announce he was decent before opening the door further. "I'm about to head off. Thought I'd say goodbye."

Harry leaped out of bed and began ruffling through his things, searching for his socks and underwear and ripping open the paper his new robes were wrapped in.

"I'm coming with you," he said quickly. Sirius raised his brows in surprise.  
"Why?"   
"What if it doesn't go well and I never see you again?" Harry demanded, half way through taking his sweatshirt off before realising he wasn't in the Hogwarts dormitories any more and undressing in front of Sirius was a little weird. He pulled it back on quickly.  
"Harry," Sirius said softly. "I'm going to be fine. I wouldn't risk losing you if I wasn't absolutely sure it would be alright."

Harry felt a bit stupid as Sirius came in and sat gingerly on the bed. Sirius had never done anything but be there for him; every time Harry had reached out, Sirius had answered his call. He was the only adult Harry could ever rely on.

"It's like we spoke about, remember? Dumbledore knows you're valuable, so he'll do anything to keep you near. Even announcing my innocence," Sirius said. He looked around the room curiously, his gaze landing on the brown paper of Harry’s shopping. A lopsided grin appeared on his face. "Oh, but these are sweet, Harry! Did you buy them just to match with me?"

He tugged the robes out of the brown paper and held them up against himself admiringly, jumping up to the mirror to see his reflection.

"Sod off, Sirius," Harry laughed.  
"If you're coming, you've got five minutes," Sirius said, throwing the robes at Harry’s head. "Wash your face. You've got drool all down your chin."

Harry was quick to dash into the bathroom. Once he was decent and his hair almost flat, he met Sirius at the bottom of the stairs.

“We’ll have to Side-Along outside,” Sirius said, tugging the lapels of Harry’s robes straight. “The house doesn’t allow it, even with Dumbledore’s charms gone.”

Harry hummed nonchalantly and allowed Sirius to open the door for him. As he squeezed past, Sirius ruffled up Harry’s hair, ruining all the hard work he’d put into flattening it. Grinning, Harry brushed it out of his eyes before halting to a stop on the front step.

“What the - ”

The last people Harry had ever expected to see stood mere metres away from him, the blonde woman leading the man somewhat reluctantly by the hand.

“What’s wrong, Harry?” Sirius said, craning his neck to see beyond the door. “Oh.”  
“Sirius,” Narcissa greeted.   
Sirius clamped his hand on Harry’s shoulder protectively. “You can’t be serious, Nar,” Sirius spat.  
“How can I be, when only you are?” Narcissa replied.  
“Now is not a good time for you to turn up on my doorstep!” Sirius exclaimed, pushing past Harry to get close to his cousin. Narcissa was taller than Sirius, but not by much, even if Sirius’ curly hair gave him an extra inch or so.   
“Well it’s hardly convenient for us either, you know!” Narcissa responded, her voice climbing the same octaves as Sirius’ did. “But you left me no choice, you threw away my letter!”

Harry looked furiously between Narcissa and Lucius, slowly slipping his wand out of his sleeve into his fingers. Lucius, whilst standing silently, was watching Sirius with a note of dislike. 

“Perhaps we could continue this inside?” Lucius drawled, stepping forward to force Sirius away from Narcissa.  
“You keep your dirty mouth out of this, Lulu,” Sirius snapped. “I’m about to go to the ministry and get my name cleared, in case you didn’t realise! I cannot be seen mingling with Death Eaters!”  
Narcissa scoffed, her eyes glinting. “Please tell me you’re not relying on that old fool to save you.”

Sirius stood stoically. 

“Unbelievable. And do you think Dumbledore is doing this out of the goodness of his heart?” she continued, taking Sirius’ silence as confirmation.  
“I’m not stupid, Nar. I’ve got it sorted out myself,” Sirius snapped.   
“Let me guess. A favour,” she said derisively. “You -”  
“You know, you’re not making a very good case for yourself,” Sirius said loudly, interrupting whatever Narcissa had been about to say. “You come to my doorstep begging for refuge, yet the first thing you do is insult me? Goes to show that you can’t outgrow your own stupidity!”

Refuge?

Narcissa snapped her mouth shut, grimacing. Lucius looked like he’d rather vomit than be here any longer, and Harry was feeling utterly confused. Narcissa tilted her head, looking like she was thinking very hard and very fast.

“We can secure your freedom without relying on Dumbledore. The Wizengamot have many secrets they would prefer to pretend didn’t exist,” Narcissa said.  
“You can’t resort to blackmail to get everything you want,” Sirius spat.   
“It’s not blackmail. It’s business,” Narcissa said loftily. “Think of it as a favour for a favour. You help me, I help you. That’s what you like, right?  
Sirius raised his brow in amusement. “That is what I like. And I help you by housing you?”  
“And keeping it secret,” Narcissa added, nodding.  
Sirius turned to look at Harry. “What do you think, Harry?” he asked. “Shall we let them stay the night?”  
Harry gaped. “No!” he said loudly.

All he could think about was how Lucius - a known Death Eater! - had fed Voldemort information that almost led to Sirius’ death just a few days ago. Harry looked at Sirius with wide eyes, begging him to understand. Sirius moved them a few feet away, leaning in close to discuss with Harry.

“It’s a good deal, Harry.”  
“You said Dumbledore was going to clear you,” Harry accused. “You don’t need their offer.”  
“Dumbledore is a lot smarter than I am. Even if I think I’ve got him cornered, I’m sure he’s got a whole alphabet of plans to ensure that doesn’t happen,” Sirius said. “This is guaranteed. As much as I hate to admit it, I’d prefer a guarantee to come home with you, even if it’s from Lucius.”

Harry groaned. Yes, he wanted the guarantee too. Dumbledore was a great mind and couldn’t be completely trusted. He switched tactics.

“But they’re Death Eaters!” Harry whined. “Malfoy tried to get me killed, like, two days ago!”  
“Yes… but they’re also my family,” Sirius countered.   
“Can’t we let bygones be bygones?” Lucius drawled loudly, apparently eavesdropping on their private conversation. 

Harry pursed his lips as he thought. He didn’t like the Malfoy’s from the moment he laid eyes on them. Draco was an asshole, his mother was rude, and Lucius was a whole other type of diabolical. 

But...

Harry knew how precious family was. Sirius was all Harry had left - Sirius was lucky that it wasn’t the same for him.

“I don’t trust them,” Harry moaned quietly, hoping only Sirius would hear, but he had no such luck.  
“Trust is for children,” Lucius said harshly. “Do we have a deal?”  
“YOU’RE LATE!”

Harry jumped as Sirius’ pocketwatch screamed at them. Sirius tapped his pocket quickly to silence it, then held his hand out to Lucius to shake.

“We’ve got a deal. You better not let me down, Lulu,” Sirius said fiercely. Lucius only smiled.  
“You can stay for a week. One week!”  
“Two,” Narcissa countered, smiling.  
“ONE!” 

Sirius pulled Harry away to the apparition point, leaving the Malfoy’s behind. Loathe to show his back to them, Harry looked over his shoulder, wand half raised - but they were no longer visible, and the front door to Grimmauld Place was open once more.

“Just forget about them for now, Harry,” Sirius said, walking fast. “One thing at a time.”  
“But Sirius,” Harry protested, but for the first time Sirius didn’t let Harry finish. He looped his arm through Harry’s and spun, apparating them to the visitors entrance of the Ministry that Harry had used with Mr Weasley a year before. They squished into the phone booth.

“Dumbledore said he’d wait in the lobby and escort me down. He was expecting me thirty minutes ago, but oh well,” Sirius shrugged.   
“Sirius - about the Malfoy’s -”  
“Best not mention it for now, Harry,” Sirius said sternly. He looked into Harry’s eyes, which Harry was just now realising were grey, like Narcissa’s. “Just focus on the hearing. They might call you to the stand. I didn’t think to mention it because you weren’t going to be here, but - ”

The phone booth stumbled to a stop and the door swung open, revealing Dumbledore waiting for them.

“Sirius, I was almost beginning to wonder if you’d changed your mind,” Dumbledore greeted. He smiled at Harry and bowed his head.   
“Professor,” Harry greeted.   
“Sorry, Albus, Harry decided last minute that he wanted to join in on the fun,” Sirius explained, falling into step with Dumbledore as they headed to the lifts. Harry struggled to keep up, his robes feeling uncomfortably airy around his legs as they walked.  
“No matter, the more the merrier,” Dumbledore said. “The hearing is in courtroom three, of course, the coldest room the Ministry has to offer…”

Harry tuned out Dumbledore’s ramblings, which might have been amusing if he wasn’t so concerned about what was about to happen to his godfather. Why did he take the deal with Lucius? Did he really doubt Dumbledore’s ability to clear his name so much? He had seemed convinced that Harry was the bargaining chip he needed to get Dumbledore on his side, but perhaps Sirius wasn’t as confident as he seemed.

A wave of exhaustion fell over Harry. The past few days had been such a whirlwind of emotion, he almost couldn’t believe he was actually awake. Seeing his future self on the brink of death, believing his godfather was in Voldemort’s clutches, seeing Lucius Malfoy get tortured, and now so close to staying with Sirius forever or losing him to Azkaban… Could he trust Dumbledore or Lucius to fulfill their promises?

Harry tugged at his cloak self-consciously. Maybe he was supposed to wear trousers under his robes? That would explain why he felt so bare…

Sirius tapped him on the shoulder and grinned. “Head up, shoulders back, smiles on,” he murmured. “It’s showtime.”

Indeed it was. The lift doors clattered open and they walked through a short corridor, cold as Dumbledore had predicted with their breaths making little puffs of smoke as they walked. The black tiles reflected the golden light of the candles but did very little to light up the narrow space and their bodies cast long shadows along the walls. And, waiting for them at the end of the hall in front of the door was Harry’s personal nemesis.

Rita Skeeter. Her bejeweled glasses and curled hair was unmistakable, as was her acid green Quik Quotes Quill, hovering above a notepad.

“A quick word, Albus?” Rita said, hurrying forward from her perch at the door to shake Dumbledore’s hand. He very politely shook it.  
“So sorry, Rita, we’re behind schedule today. Perhaps after the hearing?” Dumbledore said smoothly, standing in Rita’s path and opening the door so Harry and Sirius could enter the courtroom without having to look at the reporter. Unfortunately, Rita was not so easily disturbed.  
“Harry! My dear, I didn’t expect to see you here today!” Rita practically screeched, ducking under Dumbledore’s arm to see him, grabbing the back of Harry’s neck to yank him to a halt. She began chattering to her quill which wrote furiously. “Harry Potter, Triwizard Tournament Champion and infamous Boy Who Lived, attending the trial of criminal Sirius Black -”  
“Remove your hand from my godson or I will remove it for you,” Sirius growled threateningly, prying off one of Rita’s fingers. Her hand slipped away from Harry’s clothes quickly.  
“Scratch that, godson of criminal Sirius Black -”

Dumbledore ushered them through the door and Rita was barred from entry by his imposing frame. Harry sighed in relief. 

“Frightful thing, that woman,” Dumbledore muttered to Harry, who laughed in response.  
“Yeah.”

Harry hovered at Dumbledore’s side as his eyes adjusted to the bright courtroom. It was white and gold, every surface glittering, the chandeliers hovering below the roof were overflowing with lit candles. The layout was much like his own trial except in a much smaller room; the Wizengamot were seated on one side of the room, a mass sea of plum coloured robes, with a single chair in the centre of the floor and a visitor’s stand at the back. Luckily for them, the Wizengamot was still milling about, talking to each other in low voices.

“No Fudge,” Sirius pointed out to Dumbledore, who smiled grimly.  
“Unfortunately, the possibility of your freedom falls below the importance of dealing with Professor Umbridge, I daresay,” he said. “Freshly returned from the Forbidden Forest, much to the centaurs’ disgust.”

Harry seemed to be the only one who noticed a latecomer to the trial, a lone wizard coming from the Wizengamot’s entrance, hurriedly putting his juror’s hat on. He was frazzled, wiping sweat off his upper lip with one hand and pushing through the crowd quickly to whisper in the ear of another juror, who promptly paled. A game of whispers erupted before Harry’s very eyes where each recipient of the whisper quickly spread the information to those around them, and every receiver paled in concern. Was this Lucius’ work? 

“Very well, settle down,” a new voice announced, entering from the same door Harry was just watching. “Let’s get started.”

A plump man, not unkind-looking, made his way to the largest seat in the court. He nodded to the other jurors and exchanged words with a few of them. Dumbledore guided Sirius to the chair in the centre of the room, looking regretful as chains bound themselves around Sirius’ arms and legs, restricting his movement. Harry rushed forward in shock.

“Sirius!”  
“Relax, Harry, just protocol,” Sirius soothed.

But Harry was still angry. He looked at Dumbledore, demanding an explanation that he was not given; instead, Dumbledore showed Harry to the visitor’s stand. He sat alone except for a few wizards - security, perhaps, and a single reporter who was busy fiddling with his camera. Nervous, Harry twisted his wand around his fingers, watching Sirius with desperation. It wasn’t a good start to the trial if Sirius was already in chains. Maybe Sirius was right to take Lucius’ offer. 

Finally, the man in black robes sat in his chair, banging the hammer on the gravel. 

“Tiberius Arfian, acting Chief Warlock on behalf of Chief Warlock Amelia Bones,” Tiberius introduced himself. “Wizengamot scribe Percy Weasley, for the hearing discussing one Sirius Black, represented by ex-Chief Warlock Albus Dumbledore.”  
“You seem a few members short, Tiberius,” Dumbledore said cheerfully. Tiberius grimaced.  
“Unfortunately, you are correct, Albus,” Tiberius replied. “Let it be known that the Wizengamot still has a majority of forty-five interrogators on the board. Now, shall we begin?”

Without waiting for an answer, Tiberius banged his hammer on his gravel again. He gestured Dumbledore forward, inviting him to take to the floor.

“The Wizengamot has been called by Albus Dumbledore to review new evidence regarding Sirius Black, convicted murderer of twelve muggles and one wizard by way of the Blasting Curse in 1981. Albus?” 

Dumbledore nodded graciously. “Yes. I wish to ask the Wizengamot to reconsider their sentence for Sirius Black based on the unfair trial he received.”  
“Have you any evidence for this?”  
“Any evidence?” Dumbledore chuckled. “Well, certainly, Tiberius. A mere glance at the transcript of the trial will make anybody with an understanding of the law cringe at the Ministry’s misconduct!”

Tiberius murmured something to the person beside him who hurriedly offered a roll of parchment. He skimmed over it quickly, his lips moving as he murmured it to himself.

“Muggle eye-witness account,” Tiberius declared. “Missing person declared dead due to bodily parts left behind at the scene. Hardly seems unfair to me, Albus.”  
“Well, that certainly says something,” Dumbledore said, earning himself a few whispers in response. “Very well. In Sirius Black’s defence, I would point out that there is a lack of wizardry eye-witness accounts, which are considered far more reliable, and the remains of a wizard at a crime scene by no means indicate death - I am sure that I myself have left many hairs and fingernails behind around the world, perhaps even a toe or two due to a few unsavoury splinching incidents. Not to mention that no Priori Incantatum was performed on Sirius’ wand - if it were, I am sure he would never have been convicted.”  
“Not all evidence was provided to the public,” Tiberius said shortly. “Peter Pettigrew’s wand was left snapped at the scene of the crime along with his finger due to the Blasting Curse. His magical signature disappeared from all Ministry tracking. There has not been a single sighting of him in almost fifteen years. He has been declared dead. Sirius Black’s wand was never found. Now, if I’m not mistaken, Albus, we were called here to discuss new evidence supporting Black’s innocence? Do you have any to provide?”

Harry shifted in his seat, his stomach twisting. If Dumbledore’s plan was to point out the failures of Sirius’ original trial to secure his freedom, it wasn’t going very well.

“I do,” Dumbledore said. He waved his hand and a thin bowl appeared in front of him, floating in mid-air. “I have brought for the Wizengamot my own personal pensieve. This contains a memory of my own regarding that very sad night.”  
“Denied. You were not present during the crime, memories can be easily tampered with, and your pensieve has not undergone enchantment searches,” Tiberius rejected.   
“I can assure you, as the previous Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, my pensieve is of the highest standard,” Dumbledore said, smiling.   
“Denied,” Tiberius repeated firmly. “As previous Chief Warlock, Dumbledore, you should be more than familiar with the law. I sincerely hope you have more substantial evidence to provide.”

For the first time, Dumbledore’s mask of pleasantness slipped. He turned on the spot and began pacing the room, hands behind his back, a small furrow in his brow.

“Peter Pettigrew was found alive and well at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry at the end of the school year in 1993,” Dumbledore announced. The Wizengamot whispered to each other.  
“Do you have evidence?” Tiberius asked.  
“Eye witness accounts,” Dumbledore nodded.   
“By whom?”  
“Ah. Well, by Sirius Black, of course,” Dumbledore smiled. “But moreover, the professor for Defence Against the Dark Arts at the time, and Harry Potter himself, along with two of his schoolmates.”

The whispers were much louder this time, so loud that Tiberius had to bang his hammer for attention. Harry Potter? Is that him? The Boy Who Lived?

“Silence in the chamber,” he commanded. “The professor, who was it?”  
“That would be Remus Lupin.”

Tiberius snorted to himself as he wrote that down. Behind him, a few other jurors sniggered. Werewolf echoed throughout the room, making Sirius shift in his chair, and Harry’s blood boil.

“And Harry Potter, sitting in the stands?” Tiberius clarified. Dumbledore nodded. “Underage, along with his schoolmates, and therefore ineligible to testify in the Wizengamot?”  
“Yes,” Dumbledore said tersely.  
“I’ve heard enough of this, Albus,” Tiberius announced tiredly. “I have given you multiple opportunities to present to the Wizengamot substantial evidence to defend your client, and yet you insist on trying to enamour us with your stories instead. I’m afraid -”  
“I would argue that it’s a similar, if not more sufficient amount of evidence that you used to convict Sirius with in the beginning, Chief Warlock,” Dumbledore said quietly. Tiberius frowned at him disapprovingly.  
“If I may, Chief Warlock?” A lady stood from her chair, her hair cascading around her shoulders in gorgeous auburn curls. Tiberius waved a hand indicating she proceeded. “Albus, if Pettigrew was discovered in 1993, why have you waited two years to bring this to the attention of the Wizengamot?”  
“Thank you, Madam of the Wizengamot, for your question,” Dumbledore smiled. “Unfortunately we were unable to secure the capture of Peter Pettigrew and he escaped, presumably to his master Lord Voldemort,” Dumbledore said, ignoring the collective shudder of the Wizengamot. “Then, as you all know, I was rather tied up with the Triwizard Tournament and ensuring our students’ safety. Sirius Black was unable to make steady contact with me until after the school year, when Lord Voldemort had already been revived by his followers. Once I was convinced of Sirius’ story and Voldemort’s return, I was shunned by the Ministry of Magic. There wasn’t any point in bringing this case to your attention knowing how lowly you all thought of me,” Dumbledore said.

There was a smile on his face, but Harry got the distinct impression that Dumbledore was unimpressed with the Wizengamot. 

“That all seems highly convenient, Dumbledore,” Tiberius said, tapping his quill against the table. Then, he sighed. “Very well. If that is all the defendant has to offer to the Wizengamot, shall we vote?”  
“If I may, Chief Warlock,” Sirius suddenly interrupted, no longer sitting low in his chains. Tiberius raised his brows.  
“Witness for the defence?” Tiberius asked. Dumbledore opened his hands, palms up, gesturing for Sirius to speak.  
“When I am proven innocent, I wish to stake claim to my rightful title of Lord of House Black, due to my being the last living descendent of the direct line,” Sirius said formally. “I also officially request guardianship of my godson, Harry Potter, as outlined in the will of his deceased parents.”  
“When you are proven innocent?” Tiberius chuckled. “Well, we shall see. The evidence is not very strong. It is an excellent story, certainly, but in the end it is just Albus’ word we have to go on. Scribe, summarise?” he ordered. Percy jumped up from his seat, looking over his notes quickly.  
“Albus Dumbledore attempted to provide an unauthorised memory and pensieve to the Wizengamot. He claims Peter Pettigrew is to blame for the murders Sirius Black was convicted of, who was found alive at Hogwarts in 1993 by three underage wizards and a werewolf. No further evidence has been provided.”

Percy sat back down, fixing his glasses on his nose. When Percy broke it down like that, Harry suddenly realised how outlandish the story was. There was no mention of Peter being in his animagus form, avoiding all magical detection spells in his rodent form, including detection by the dementors. No mention of how Peter was almost entirely to blame for the return of Voldemort. Did Dumbledore truly believe Sirius’ freedom would be guaranteed with this pitiful defence? How could Sirius have faith in that?

But, Harry’s mind whispered, he didn’t truly have faith, because he took Narcissa’s deal. So he must have known Dumbledore would fall short. But if Narcissa hadn’t turned up on their doorstep when she had, what would Sirius have done then? Go back to Azkaban, and leave Harry behind?

Tiberius sighed loudly. “Sorry, Albus. Let’s vote. All in favour of declaring Sirius Black innocent of murder?”

Barely daring to look, Harry’s stomach clenched at the sight of more than half of the Wizengamot’s hands in the air. He looked at their faces closely - yes, the man with the sweaty lip had his hand up, as did the woman with the slight moustache, and many others who had heard the whispers. Tiberius looked around, spluttering.   
“Wha - I’m - oh, ruddy hell. All in favour of instating the title of Lordship?”

The same hands stayed up.

Tiberius sighed once more. “Merlin’s sake. I hereby declare Sirius Black falsely imprisoned for the period of 1981 to 1993. However, he is not cleared of all charges. After all, Black escaped Azkaban and avoided capture for two years. He will pay a hefty fine for that. Ten thousand galleons ought to cover it.”

The wizengamot gasped, and so did Harry. He didn’t know what that equated to in muggle money, but he knew it was high.

“Once the fine has been paid, the Lordship title can be claimed as can guardianship,” Tiberius decided. He banged the hammer three times. “Case dismissed.”

The chains unravelled around Sirius and dropped to the floor. He stood gracefully, straightening his robes and bowing at Tiberius. Sirius gestured for Harry to join him and he hurried to do so, ignoring how his robes flapped around his legs and didn’t match his sneakers and everyone could see. Sirius embraced him in a tight hug, suffocating Harry and crushing his ribs. A camera flashed but Harry ignored it, his eyes squeezed shut.

“Come on, I told you it would be alright,” Sirius soothed. Harry pulled away, grinning. When was the last time he’d been so happy?   
“Congratulations, Sirius,” Dumbledore said, approaching them with a serene smile on his face. “Or should I say, Lord Black?”  
“Thank you, Dumbledore,” Sirius said, refusing to let Harry go. He slung his arm over Harry’s shoulder easily. “Freedom’s never tasted so good.”  
“I’m sure it hasn’t,” Dumbledore said. “I have to have words with Tiberius, but I’ll be in touch soon. Goodbye Sirius, Harry.”

Dumbledore whirled away and left them to the mercy of the reporter, who had none of the energy of Rita, seeming more focussed on veracity. 

“I’m very grateful to the Wizengamot for taking my case and ruling my innocence,” Sirius said. “I am looking forward to reuniting with the Wizarding World as a free man.”  
“And as Lord Black,” the reporter probed. Sirius barked out a laugh.  
“Well, after I’ve paid the fine, but even that still comes second to being Harry’s godfather,” Sirius grinned. “After all, what’s freedom without family?”

The reporter nodded and wrote down the quote, took more photos, then left without saying goodbye. Sirius rolled his eyes and led Harry to the exit.

“Fifty galleons Rita’s still there,” he muttered, kicking open the door so harshly it bounced off the wall. Luckily the corridor was empty, but Harry hadn’t been on the lookout for any bugs during the trial either, and he worried about what that meant. They’ll find out with tomorrow’s Prophet, he supposed. 

Tomorrow’s Prophet, which would arrive at Grimmauld Place, assuming he survived the night with the Malfoy’s. 

Dread washed over Harry but he tried not to let it get him down. Sirius was officially a free man, and that meant that Harry’s life was about to change. He was never going back to the Dursley’s. He could have Ron and Hermione over for the holidays. Hedwig could fly every night for as long as she liked. And maybe - maybe for the first time - Harry wouldn’t spend every holiday at Hogwarts.

Walking through the Ministry, Harry half expected to be swarmed at the Atrium by reporters or fans or the Weasleys, even, but it was quite anticlimactic. Barely anybody looked twice at Sirius (Harry got a few shocked looks, of course, which were ignored). Sirius seemed happy, walking with a skip in his step. 

“It’s strange, walking in a crowd like this,” he said to Harry. “When I was on the run, I didn’t want to be looked at. Now, I don’t care if they do or not. It’s so… freeing.”

They reached the floo’s with little fanfare and Sirius ducked in the floo first, calling out for Grimmauld Place. Harry followed a few seconds later, bumping into Sirius as he stepped out of the fire.

“Ow - what?” 

The way forward was blocked by a tall dresser. Using his wand, Sirius shrunk it, only to find another buffet in the way - then again, a sofa, a chest of drawers, a marble bust.

“NARCISSA!” Sirius shouted. He dashed into the stairwell, looking up and down to see her appear. Harry followed closely. “I DIDN’T SAY YOU COULD MOVE IN!”  
“I’d forgotten how small this place is,” Narcissa said pleasantly. 

She was on the same floor as them, and walked out of Harry’s room. It was the only bedroom on this floor, and if the mountain of furniture near his door was any indication, he’d just been kicked out of it. 

“Kitchen. Now!” Sirius barked. “Come on, Harry,” he said more quietly.

Sirius glowered as they all met in the kitchen, Narcissa and Lucius taking the ends of the table each, leaving Sirius and Harry caught in the middle.

“I thought I said one week?” Sirius said, his voice low and angry. Narcissa rolled her eyes.  
“And I thought we made a deal? A favour for a favour,” she said loftily. “Lucius and I got your name cleared. You give us refuge. What did I miss?”  
"Don’t play coy with me. Your furniture isn’t welcome.”  
“Are you kicking us out already?” Narcissa asked, her eyes flashing dangerously. “You know, you haven’t even asked me why I need refuge.”  
Sirius pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t need to know. I can guess. You got yourself into a big old mess with someone you can’t manipulate to your will. Surprise, surprise.”  
“I don’t care if I have to imperio you to get what I want, Sirius,” Narcissa warned. “But I’m sure you will see reason. After all, we want the same thing.”  
“The same thing?” Sirius barked out a laugh. “Well, now you’ve caught my interest. Wands on the table, everyone.”

Narcissa was the first to put hers down, rolling it into the centre of the table. Lucius grunted, but took it out of his cane and did the same. 

“Harry,” Sirius said, “you too.”

Surprised he was included in the conversation and not banished to the hallway, Harry followed suit, even if he wasn’t happy to let go of his only weapon. Sirius added his to the pile.

“Good. Now start from the start,” Sirius commanded. Narcissa rested her forearms on the table, looking at Lucius briefly before telling her tale.

“The Dark Lord has been back for a year now,” she said quietly. The hum of the oven almost drowned her out, but Harry strained his ears, desperate to hear. “As you know, he returned during the Triwizard Tournament, using Potter’s blood and a very old spell. That night, all the Death Eaters were called and only the most loyal turned up - everyone who was absent was tracked and killed unless they had a good reason. And we - we were already under suspicion, because we didn’t try and find him after he disappeared. But he forgave us, overtaken by an obsession with the connection between your wands,” Narcissa said, nodding at Harry.  
“Why?” Sirius asked.  
“Because we dueled, and all these ghosts came out of his wand, and helped me win,” Harry said, shrugging. He didn’t really know what happened that night either.  
“Yes, well, whatever happened scared him. He went abroad for weeks at a time, searching for something. And when he returned he was obsessed with a prophecy in the Ministry, a prophecy that is said to contain information about him and the one destined to destroy him,” Narcissa said, her eyes falling onto Harry again. “He said he wanted to infiltrate the Ministry, and since we were already under suspicion of disloyalty, we volunteered to help.”  
“Infiltrating the Ministry would have been a very easy way for us to maintain our rank in his following,” Lucius added, smirking a little bit. “I’m there most days anyway, so how hard could it have been? I cursed a few low ministry workers, got them into the Department of Mysteries, and found the prophecy.”  
“Wow,” Sirius moaned sarcastically. “You are so impressive, Lulu.”  
“It wasn’t exactly easy, not that I’d expect you to appreciate it,” Lucius sniffed. “Anyway, we couldn’t take it -”  
“Why not?” Harry interrupted, ignoring Lucius’ irritated look.  
“Once placed in the Department of Mysteries, prophecies can only be retrieved by the person it’s made for, and obviously the Dark Lord didn’t want to go in himself,” Lucius sneered.  
“Obviously,” Sirius mocked.   
“Then, Kreacher appeared on our doorstep,” Narcissa said. Sirius glowered at the table. “It was the perfect opportunity for us. So, Lucius, Bella and I put together a plan.”  
“Voldemort tried to lure me out of Hogwarts, using Sirius as bait,” Harry summarised. “Yeah, it didn’t work.”  
“It didn’t work,” Narcissa repeated softly. “And then, who do I run into at Diagon Alley, the very day I am meant to be away from the Manor until nightfall? Who happens to have a vision of my husband being tortured, right after the Dark Lord revealed that he could place fake visions in his mind?”

Sirius glanced at Harry in concern. Harry shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. He had meant to tell him, hadn’t he? It just wasn’t a priority...

“It could only mean one of two things. He had me under surveillance and faked the vision, knowing I would hear about it, and was testing my loyalties. Or, it was a very real vision, and Lucius was being hurt whilst I was gone, meaning that we’d lost favour. Neither was a pleasant thought, but at least if it was a fake vision, I’d have passed the test,” Narcissa sniffed. A single tear rolled down her cheek.  
“Needless to say, it wasn’t fake,” Lucius said, cool as a cucumber, but Harry looked closer and saw his straggly hair, the bags under his eyes, the slight tremble of his lips. He covered the after-effects of the cruciatus well. “He wanted someone to blame, and it was me.”  
“I hid until it was over, and wrote to you,” Narcissa said. Her voice was thick, choking back sobs. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me. I wasn’t expecting a response. But Draco is due home in a few days, and he doesn’t know - ”  
“Doesn’t know mummy and daddy are Death Eaters?” Sirius said harshly. Narcissa pursed her lips.  
“Doesn’t know he has decided to call our Manor home to keep an eye on us,” Narcissa whispered. 

Even Sirius didn’t have anything to say to that. As much as Harry hated the Malfoy’s, the idea of Voldemort living under their roof was horrid. 

“Why don’t you worm your way back into his favour?” Sirius asked eventually. “That’s what you do, isn’t it? Lie and blackmail your way to the top?”  
“Sirius,” Harry admonished, but it fell on deaf ears.  
“We want a better world for our son,” Lucius said stiffly. “If that’s what we have to do to give it to him, then so be it. I will crawl on my hands and knees to give Draco what he deserves. But Narcissa wanted out, she wanted to try, and I will always try and give her what she wants too.”

Narcissa smiled at Lucius, just a small upturn of the lips.

“I don’t want Draco getting involved in this,” she murmured. “He’s just a boy.”  
“So is Harry,” Sirius pointed out. Narcissa’s eyes widened.  
“Then you understand how badly I want to protect my son!”  
“It’s not the same thing, Nar!”  
“Quiet, Cissa,” Lucius said, and she obeyed without question. “We have said our piece. If your cousin does not wish to help us, we cannot force him.”

He looked like he’d very much like to, though.

Looking torn, Sirius laid his eyes on Harry for a brief second, then flickered away. Quickly, he reached into the centre of the table and rolled everyone back their wands.

“Harry’s safety is my top priority,” Sirius said firmly. “How do I know this isn’t a trick? I’m sure you’d be back in Voldy’s favour if you handed him Harry on a silver platter.”  
Narcissa’s lips quirked. “I thought about it,” she admitted.   
“I suggested it,” Lucius added. Narcissa shot him a look that clearly meant shut up.   
“If I have to help you keep Potter safe in order to keep Draco safe, then I will do so,” Narcissa said. “Funnily enough, Draco’s safety is my top priority. You will be giving this place the best wards on offer, yes?”  
Sirius snorted. “Of course.”  
“Then are we agreed?” 

Sirius rubbed his face with his hands, sighing dramatically. He pushed away from the table, gesturing for Harry to follow him.

“Stay here,” Sirius ordered Narcissa, who rolled her eyes in response.

Outside in the stairwell was a lot colder than the kitchen, but Sirius didn’t seem to notice. He was running his hands through his hair, ruffling it up.

“What do you think, Jamesy?” he said quietly.   
“I don’t know, Sirius,” Harry shrugged. 

And it was true. This whole day, he hasn’t known what to think. On one hand, they were Sirius’ family. On the other, they were Death Eaters.

“It’s your house too, you know,” Sirius reminded Harry. “This isn’t just my decision to make. It’s ours.”  
“I don’t trust them,” Harry admitted. “They just want to protect themselves, they don’t care whether Voldemort lives or dies!”  
“That’s true,” Sirius said thoughtfully. “But if they defect from his following, that’s one less follower he has, and that can turn the tide of the war.”  
“How do we know they’re really defecting?” Harry asked.  
“I don’t think Narcissa would ever come back here if she had a choice.”

Harry stood in silence, trying to imagine sharing a house with the Malfoy’s. His summer had seemed so bright, so exciting, just a few hours ago. He imagined stomping around the house only to find Narcissa in the kitchen, Lucius in the library, Draco hogging the bathroom - then, something dawned on Harry.

“It wouldn’t just be one week, then,” Harry realised.  
“I wondered when you’d realise that,” Sirius smirked. “This home has some of the best protective magic on it, I’d say it almost rivals Hogwarts. If we let them stay, they’d never be found by him.”  
“But if we don’t, they’ll either be killed or they’ll go back to Voldemort,” Harry concluded.

Merlin. A small part of Harry thought it wouldn’t be a huge loss if Voldemort killed them, but he shook the thought away. Sirius had said it right: one follower could make all the difference in this war.

“The Malfoy’s are poncey bastards,” Harry said firmly. Sirius snorted his amusement. “But no one deserves this, it’s like putting you back in Azkaban.”  
“It’s not a fate I’d wish upon my worst enemy,” Sirius murmured. “So, we invite the cousins to stay?”  
“Your cousin, not mine,” Harry was quick to differentiate. 

Sirius reopened the door to the kitchen with a sarcastic smile on his face.

“We would love to open our home to some poor refugees,” Sirius announced. “But there will be rules, and please expect to pay rent.”  
“Rent? What’s that?” Lucius drawled.   
“Thank you, Sirius,” Narcissa said earnestly, moving forward to grip his hands in her own.  
“It’s not me you have to thank,” Sirius said, shaking his head. “It’s Harry’s home too, and he made the choice to take you in. But I swear, Narcissa, if this is some elaborate trick -”  
“It’s not a trick,” Narcissa said drily. “Well, at the moment it’s not, at least.”  
Sirius huffed. “Well, if that changes, do let me know,” he said mockingly. “Oh, and get your stuff out of the drawing room, you’re blocking the floo.”


	5. Chapter 5

Narcissa and Lucius were very, very bitter about Sirius not allowing Kreacher to serve them. In fact, Harry thought Sirius got a bit of enjoyment out of Kreacher ignoring their existence entirely. Needless to say, Narcissa sought her revenge. As Harry had predicted, he was kicked out of the bedroom he had chosen on the first floor and moved up to the second floor, which didn’t have the bathroom conveniently located across the hall - in fact, it did have two other bedrooms, which meant it was likely Draco would be staying on this floor as well. Harry carefully tucked that thought into the _Do Not Open_ area of his brain. Narcissa and Lucius promptly threw out all the furniture in Harry’s old room, and began replacing it with furniture they’d taken from the Manor.

“I hate this place,” Narcissa huffed. “It’s small and dark and outdated. Your mother would be disgusted to see how derelict it has become.”  
“I’ll tell that to Kreacher,” Sirius hummed, unbothered. 

But Harry had other things on his mind. With all the changes that had happened in his life, he figured he’d better tell his best friend about them. His quill hovered above the paper, dripping ink. He’d written only two words already.

_Hey Ron._

How to go on?

_“ J_ _ust writing to let you know that Malfoy is living with me now. Hope to see you soon!”_

It sounded stupid even in his head. He’d receive another howler, for sure. 

Harry slumped in his seat, almost wishing he was on the Hogwarts Express with them instead of here with the Malfoy’s. He wondered who Ron and Hermione were sitting with - Ginny, surely, and probably Neville and Luna. Would Ginny bat-bogey hex Draco on the train if she found out? Just as a warning? That would be his luck...

Sighing, Harry put his quill down. Surely Sirius wouldn’t mind taking him to the station to see Ron and Hermione in person? Narcissa and Lucius were already going to get Draco, it could be a family outing…

Harry shivered. _Ugh._

Unfortunately, Sirius seemed quite content to remain at home. When Harry ventured up to the attic to ask, Sirius was comfortable in the hay, revelling in how the smell kept the Malfoy’s away.

“I’m not going out in public with them,” Sirius said immediately after Harry asked. There was no question who _they_ were.  
“Neither am I,” he said.  
“Good, so it’s settled. You can write them a letter.”

Sirius gave Harry a shit-eating grin, which Harry steadfastly ignored.

“I tried writing one,” he grumbled. “It sounds awful on paper.”  
“Can I read it?”  
“No! Can you just take me to the station, please?” Harry begged. Sirius laughed.  
“Fine, fine! But we’re not going anywhere near the bloody Malfoy’s,” he said pointedly. Harry grinned.  
“That’s fine by me!”

As it turned out, the Malfoy’s didn’t want to be seen with them, either. Upon hearing Harry and Sirius coming down the stairs, they hurried out the front door and apparated away before the door had closed behind them.

“A bit rude,” Sirius scoffed. “You’d think they’d be more careful going outside alone, seeing as Voldy could come after them at any moment.”  
“That’s true,” Harry said in surprise. “Why are they risking it, anyway?”  
“They don’t think they’d be attacked in public places,” Sirius shrugged. “It’s not His style, apparently. I don’t know.”

Harry accepted this explanation without further follow up questions. It seemed exactly the type of snobby attitude he had come to expect from the Malfoy’s. 

They apparated directly to the platform to avoid the muggles. Sirius simply put a cloak over his loungewear, not dressed to the nines like he was for his trial, and Harry was wearing jeans and one of Dudley’s old t-shirts that were still too long in the sleeves. Together, they made quite a frazzled picture - especially compared to the Malfoy’s, who were staring at them in disgust. Narcissa pointedly smoothed the front of her dress, pursed her lips and turned away, pulling Lucius further along the platform out of sight.

The train pulled in and the luggage levitated to both ends of the platform; quickly parents swarmed closer to the train to help their children off. Sirius nodded to a few parents who did double-takes, but none approached to chat. It didn’t seem to bother him.

“Shout when you see them, eh, Harry?” Sirius said, standing on his toes to see over the crowds. The station was beginning to fog and blur faces already.  
“You can’t miss the Weasley’s,” Harry said, grinning. He saw a flash of red hair that might have been Ginny, but quickly lost track of it in the crowd. Then, Sirius tugged on Harry’s arm, pointing in the opposite direction.  
“Hermione!”

The girl in question looked up in surprise, beaming when her gaze landed on Harry and Sirius. She slapped the person beside her on the shoulder before racing forward and embracing Harry in a tight hug, kissing his cheek before moving on to Sirius.

“I saw your hearing in the paper!” Hermione gushed. “I’m so happy for you! But you should have told me, I could have helped you prepare a defence -”  
“Next time,” Sirius grinned. “Ron, good to see you.”  
“Snuffles,” Ron greeted. Harry laughed and they embraced quickly. “Good to see you, Harry. Did you get my letter? I’ve got so much to tell you.”  
“Me too,” Harry said. “Let’s get off the platform.”  
“My parents are waiting for me,” Hermione said anxiously as they collected their luggage. “I would love to stay and chat, but we’ve got to go to the airport, we’re flying to France -”  
“Flying? You don’t like brooms,” Ron said, nonplussed. “Speaking of, Harry, here’s yours.”

He tossed it over and Harry caught it swiftly, grinning as it vibrated a little in his hand. It was eager to be flown - perhaps this was the first summer he could use it?

“Not by broom, by plane,” Hermione sighed, rolling her eyes.  
“Is that safe?”

They were walking towards the barrier slowly, unable to see more than a few feet ahead of them at any time. There was a queue to exit into London as there always was, and they were trying to find the end to join when Hermione tripped slightly, grabbing onto Ron’s arm to save herself.

“Watch it, beaver,” a voice sneered.

Harry inwardly groaned. He recognised that voice instantly.

“Watch yourself, ferret,” Hermione snapped.   
“I’m not in the way, it’s you who wasn’t watching where you were going,” Draco huffed, crossing his arms. On either side of him were his parents, flanking him much like Crabbe and Goyle would.   
“Well maybe if you weren’t so pale, I might have been able to spot you,” Hermione retorted.  
“Behave, children,” Sirius said, but his heart wasn’t really in it and they all could tell. Lucius put a firm hand on Draco’s shoulder.  
“Leave them be,” he ordered. “We have more important ways to spend our time.”

Draco sneered at them all once again before allowing his father to steer him off to the apparation point.

“Bloody charming,” Sirius muttered.  
“A whole summer free of Malfoy,” Ron moaned happily. “What a blessing.”

Harry avoided his eye.

Eventually they made it to the platform where Hermione’s parents and the rest of the Weasley’s were waiting. Fred and George stood there in fancy new jackets, identical grins on their faces, along with a disapproving Molly Weasley and a happy Ginny.

“Have a great summer, you two,” Hermione said, beginning to hug them all goodbye. Harry got a mouthful of hair when he protested.  
“No - wait - _blegh -_ I’ve got to tell you something before you leave,” Harry said urgently, pulling Hermione and Ron forcefully by the hands away from eavesdroppers.  
“Really, Harry, I’m not sure I’ve got time,” Hermione said, looking over her shoulder at her parents.  
“It’ll only take a second,” Harry said. He looked around to make sure they were in the clear before taking a deep breath. Then…

Nothing.

“You alright, mate?” Ron said. “You look a bit queasy.”  
“Maybe you could write us?” Hermione suggested.  
“No!” Harry almost shouted. “No! Okay, here it goes. I - well, it's a long story, but essentially I’ll be living with Malfoy over the summer.”

Harry wasn’t sure what he expected when he announced the bad news, but complete silence wasn’t it. Hermione and Ron stared at him for several moments until Harry wasn’t sure he even spoke.

“He’s gone barmy,” Ron said, turning to Hermione.  
“Did I hear you right?” Hermione asked, frowning. “You’re living with _Malfoy_ ?”  
“Is there a Malfoy we don’t know, because you can’t be talking about the ferret,” Ron begged.  
“There’s no other Malfoy, no,” Harry said, grimacing. “He’s going to be staying with me and Sirius. The whole family is.”  
“The whole family is,” Ron repeated.   
“I wish you’d told us earlier, Harry,” Hermione said seriously. “I can’t - my parents are coming over, I’ve got to go, good luck!”

Hermione dashed away to hug her parents in greeting, chatting animatedly to soothe their anxious faces. Harry and Ron exchanged pleasantries, Ron apparently on autopilot as he smiled and waved farewell. Then, he turned to Harry, his ears turning red.

“I never ask for long letters, Harry, but I think the next one you send better be bloody long,” he said. “Mum’s giving me dirty looks so I need to get a move on. Just - you’re not cursed, are you? Or in danger?”  
“Of course not,” Harry exclaimed. “I’m fine, really, it’s just -”  
“Then it can wait. Maybe you can floo over one day?” Ron suggested, tugging Harry back to his family, where Sirius stood trying to talk to Molly with no luck - she was insistent on looking around him to look at her son.  
“Harry, dear, so good to see you,” Mrs Weasley gushed, pinching his cheeks and hugging him tightly. “You alright? You look well.”  
“I’m great, Mrs Weasley,” Harry said.  
“I was just telling Molly that you’ll be at Grimmauld Place all summer,” Sirius said. “It’ll be good for you boys to be able to reach each other more easily.”  
“I’ll say,” Ron grinned. “Any time I feel like playing quidditch? Bam! Harry’s there. Chess? Bam! Just a floo away. It’ll be brilliant!”   
“We’ll see,” Mrs Weasley said sternly. “If you behave.”

Ron groaned and dodged one of the twins trying to knuckle his head. 

“We best be going now, Arthur’s waiting with the car,” Mrs Weasley said. “Goodbye, goodbye!”  
“Bye Harry,” Ginny waved. The twins copied her, blowing Harry kisses.  
“Bye!” Harry shouted. He and Sirius waved until they were out of sight.  
“Blimey, Harry, she wasn’t too impressed about my outfit,” Sirius shuddered. 

Harry tried not to laugh at his expense, but Sirius did look quite ragged, especially compared to his fancy robes. They turned and began walking, Harry letting Sirius lead them to what he assumed was another apparation spot. 

“How’d it go?”  
“Fine,” Harry said, and Sirius didn’t push for any further information.

It had gone fine, Harry thought. How else could someone react to what was only bad news? If Hermione wasn’t in such a rush to leave he probably could have explained it better, but he would write a follow-up letter to explain it all.

He wasn’t looking forward to writing that letter, so maybe he’d talk to Ron about it first.

“I’ve got Kreacher cooking up a feast for us tonight,” Sirius said as they walked. “My parents used to do it every time we came home for the holidays. I know you technically came home a few days ago but it's tradition! All the Black’s would come over for it. It wasn’t the politest meal, but the food was perfect every time.”

Harry peeked at Sirius from the corner of his eye. It was an open secret that Sirius had a rough upbringing, and Harry knew all too well what that could entail. The feast sounded great, but what Harry liked most was that Sirius wanted to share with him his traditions. It felt like something family would do.

“Hopefully the Malfoy’s don’t spoil it, but Narcissa was always a firecracker at the table,” Sirius said. “The things she used to say to my mother, oh boy…”

Harry let Sirius get lost in his memories. His heart was warm, but his stomach was a bundle of nerves. He didn’t want to have dinner with the Malfoy’s. He’d rather claw his own eyes out. He’d rather face another dragon. But for Sirius, he’d behave.

*

“We’re not going home, Draco.”  
Draco frowned. “I have some things in my room that I want to collect if we're going abroad.”  
“We're not going abroad either,” Lucius said carefully. “We would prefer to speak with you about this somewhere private.”

Draco followed his father to the apparation point, allowing them to Side-Along him. When he opened his eyes they were in the middle of a residential street, where the neighbours’ roofs touched and no one had a garden.

“Where are we?”

His question went unanswered. Narcissa led the way inside, pushing open the door with the snake knob. That, at least, seemed familiar. Inside was dark and old and styled with antiquities. Narcissa put her fingers to her lips and pointed to a painting with fluttering red curtains, then headed upstairs. There was a large drawing room that Draco was ushered into, the large wooden doors closing behind them with a firm thud.

“What’s going on?” Draco demanded. 

Narcissa and Lucius swapped heavy looks. Lucius turned and looked out the window, folding his hands behind his back.

“As I’m sure you have suspected, Draco, I was a Death Eater for many years,” Lucius began. 

Draco’s heart beat faster in his throat. Already, he had so many questions, but he held his tongue. 

“I have been fortunate enough to maintain a high status within the Dark Lord’s inner circle during his reign, and again now he has returned.”  
“He’s back?” Draco asked. Potter had claimed it and was laughed at for it, but Draco had believed him. Still, it was different when it was confirmed by his father.   
Lucius nodded once. “For over a year now he has been hiding in the shadows,” Lucius said. “A few months ago he needed something done and I volunteered, thinking it would be an easy task. Unfortunately, it didn’t turn out that way.”  
Lucius paused for many moments. “What happened?” Draco prompted.  
“I fell out of favour and paid the price for it,” Lucius murmured. “The Dark Lord can be vengeful, and suspicious, and manipulative - and as punishment for my failure, he asked me for something I was not willing to give.”  
“What was it?” Draco whispered. 

There was a hush over the room that Draco was loath to break. He had always suspected his parents’ involvement in Voldemort’s reign, but he had never been told anything so explicitly. Too young, they had said. When you’re older we’ll explain, they had promised. Now he was older and was getting these answers, he got the feeling it was information his parents didn't want to share.

“He asked for you, Draco,” Narcissa said quietly. Draco raised his brows.  
“What?”  
“He wanted to initiate you this summer,” Lucius said. “As if a sixteen year old could do anything -”  
“I’m not a child,” Draco interrupted hotly. “I’ll join! I’ve been thinking about it for years, thinking that you’ve been leaders in the Death Eaters, and I want to do the same! I want to join!”  
“You also wanted to be a troll tamer,” Narcissa snapped. “You may feel old, Draco, but sixteen is too young to join a group like this!”  
“It’s a year before being of age, how much difference could it make?”  
“It makes a world of difference,” Lucius snarled, finally turning to look Draco in the eyes. “It took much less than that for Narcissa and I to come to our senses and see our mistakes!”

Draco opened and closed his mouth like a fish, unable to turn the many thoughts running through his head into questions. Mistakes?

“We have always wanted to give you the best. The world that we want to give you, that we wanted you to grow up in, a _pure_ world, has always been our goal. But we are not willing to lose you to him,” Lucius said firmly. “The Dark Lord asked for you to join the Death Eaters as _punishment,_ Draco, not because he wants you. You are nothing to him except for a way to belittle me and your mother. Do not think otherwise.”  
“Fine,” Draco spat, insulted that his father thought he would not impress the Dark Lord, but willing to take his word for it all the same. “Then why are we here, not at home?”  
“Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater,” Lucius murmured. “The Dark Lord does not take kindly to those who defect.”  
“Defect?” Draco repeated. “Are you - are you with Dumbledore now?” he asked, incredulous. 

His parents had never spoken favourably about the headmaster, and Draco found it easy to see why. But whilst the world he knew was shifting on his axis and everything was sliding away from Draco’s grip, he just couldn’t live in a world where his parents became lapdogs for Dumbledore.

“Absolutely not,” Lucius scoffed.

Well, the world wasn’t ending, at least.

“But, our home no longer belongs to just us,” Lucius admitted. “Unfortunately, along with asking for you to join, he wanted a base to operate from and chose our Manor.”  
“What? Why?”  
Narcissa sat next to Draco on the couch. “We think that he is suspicious of us and he wanted to keep an eye on us,” Narcissa said quietly. “There are a lot of reasons we think this that we do not want to share with you. Will you let us keep that private?”

His mother’s voice had dropped, low and earnest. She made eye contact, tilting her head so she looked at him through her lashes sadly. Draco sighed. His mother was a master manipulator, and even though he knew she was doing it, she always succeeded at making him feel guilty. 

“Whatever,” Draco muttered.

They sat in silence, his parents watching him digest the information. He thought about all the things he had hidden in his bedroom, under the floorboards, under his bed. Things that were important to him, that he wanted to keep. There was no getting those back.

Then, in the distance, he heard the front door creak open and shut.

“Who’s here?” he demanded.  
“That’s the other thing, Draco,” Narcissa said in that same voice, that same gentle tone that softened and irritated him. “This house isn’t ours. It’s my cousin’s.”  
“Who?"


	6. Chapter 6

“You think they’re here?” Harry muttered to Sirius, trying not to wake the portrait.  
“Yeah,” he muttered back.

Harry took a careful step forward and was greeted with Draco’s leather-clad feet on the stair. 

“You’ve got to be joking,” Draco said flatly.  
“Malfoy,” Harry greeted uneasily.

Narcissa and Lucius sidled into the stairwell so quietly Harry didn’t hear them. Draco took deep breaths, his chest heaving underneath his school robes. His nostrils were flared and his eyes bore into Harry’s - the grey so similar to Sirius’ but holding so much less warmth. 

Draco whirled on the spot to face his parents. “Isn’t there anywhere else we could go?” he demanded. Harry almost snorted at the petulant tone he used. “France? Morocco? A bloody boat in the middle of the ocean?”  
“No. This is the only place he can’t find us. Coming from a family of paranoid psychopaths has its uses,” Narcissa said. She added firmly: “There is no alternative.”

Sighing deeply, Draco faced Harry once again, his lips twisting, eyes flickering all over to peruse the house. He rolled his neck and shoulders a few times. Harry got the distinct impression he was working himself up to say something. Then, Draco deflated, his brows furrowing.

“I don’t owe you  _ shit _ , Potter.”  
“Draco!” Narcissa admonished.   
Harry smirked. “You might not, Malfoy, but your parents certainly do.” 

If Draco looked unhappy before, it was nothing on the sour expression he had now. Sirius whistled, long and low, but the tension in the room didn’t ease. Silence coated them even as Kreacher appeared in the room with a loud  _ crack _ , announcing that supper was served. Resisting the urge to poke his tongue out at Malfoy, Harry followed Sirius downstairs in silence. He knew instinctively that the Malfoy’s were following them, even if the small scuffle of feet and a quiet “ _ ow!”  _ that echoed through the house didn’t give it away.

The feast that Sirius had promised didn’t disappoint. Harry’s mouth watered as soon as he entered the kitchen, his nose assaulted by delicious smells. He placed himself as close to the roast meat as possible greedily; Sirius sat opposite him and the Malfoy’s sat close to the door at the head. Harry was pleased they’d thought to keep their distance, but something flashed over Sirius’ face that made Harry’s stomach twist uncomfortably.

Dinner was a sombre affair with naught a word spoken and only the squeak of cutlery on porcelain to fill the room, though Narcissa and Lucius seemed at ease in the silence. Harry spent his time taking a page out of Ron’s book and stuffing his mouth full so he didn’t have to talk. And when he couldn’t eat any more, he pushed around his peas with his fork, wondering if he’d rather be at the Dursley’s than with the Malfoy’s.

But then he looked at Sirius, moping over his plate, and remembered how excited he’d been for the feast. Harry had thought it was great that they were making their own traditions as a family - Harry had never really had any traditions before, and Sirius was locked up for 12 years, so he didn’t exactly get to enjoy any either, and he had been looking forward to this dinner. What kind of person - no, what kind of  _ godson  _ would he be if he let Sirius mope throughout this momentous occasion? They were meant to be turning over a new leaf to celebrate Sirius’ freedom. 

Resolved, Harry opened his mouth to say something, then shut it abruptly. He had nothing to say to any of the Malfoy’s. He knew nothing about what they liked, and didn’t want to risk starting an argument and ruining this dinner further. What could he do?

Fred and George always knew how to liven up a party, Harry thought, thinking of the many Hogwarts feasts they had shared. Harry wasn’t funny or loud or ingenious like they were, but there was one thing he had always found entertaining when others scoffed and rolled their eyes.

Slyly, Harry put some peas on his fork and flicked them at Sirius. They landed in his hair. Sirius didn’t notice. Harry did it again.

“Bit childish, don’t you think?” Draco drawled. Harry shot him a glare, flicking a pea in his direction before returning his attention to Sirius. He’d sat up straighter, pulling the peas out of his hair.  
“Oh, I dunno, Draco, your mother used to be quite good at food fights,” Sirius said, perfectly imitating Draco’s aristocratic drawl.    
“Don’t be ridiculous, Sirius,” Narcissa said, continuing to eat with her perfect table manners. “A lady - ”   
“A lady never gets involved,” Sirius mocked, throwing some peas at her. She glared at Sirius. “Save it for someone who didn’t grow up with you.”  
Narcissa’s lips twitched. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I must insist that you don’t spread nasty rumours in front of my son,” Narcissa said sternly. “Draco, eat your potato.”  
“I don’t like potato,” Draco muttered, stabbing it with his fork all the same.   
Sirius grinned. “Shall we start dessert then?” he asked innocently.  
“Yes! I’ll help clean up,” Narcissa volunteered, standing to help clear dishes from the table. She and Sirius reached for the bowl of peas at the same time, but Narcissa was faster, snatching it out of his reach. Sirius clucked his tongue and took the mashed potato bowl instead, which Lucius was still helping himself to.

“Cissa,” Lucius said quietly - warningly, if Harry wasn’t mistaken. It went ignored. Narcissa walked towards the sink, going out of her way to walk behind Harry. Sirius paused behind Draco, holding the bowl of mash above his head threateningly.

“Ah-ah,” he taunted. Draco looked up in surprise. Harry couldn’t resist looking up above his own head, only to see Narcissa standing there with her bowl of peas slowly tilting forward.  
“Take back what you said!” Narcissa said.  
“What, the truth?” Sirius scoffed.   
“Don’t push me, Sirius,” Narcissa threatened. 

Sirius’ gaze flickered between Narcissa and Harry, and he tapped the bottom of the bowl to encourage the potato to slide out a little faster. At the same time, Harry felt a few peas drop into his hair and down his collar; he groaned involuntarily.

“Fine, truce,” Sirius grumbled, looking entirely unhappy about it. He walked away from Draco slowly, obviously waiting for Narcissa to do the same. He waved his wand and all the dishes rose to pile themselves on the sink.  
“Chicken,” Narcissa taunted, quietly so her husband wouldn’t hear. Then she upturned the bowl of peas over Sirius’ head, giggling.  
“I can’t believe my own godson let me down,” Sirius announced, hands on his hips. Harry tried to look meek and apologetic, but it was too hard to take Sirius very seriously when peas were tangled in his hair. He covered his mouth with his hand to smother his sniggers.

Kreacher came in to clear the rest of the dishes, snapping his fingers so that they disappeared from sight. He frowned at the food on the ground but didn’t comment, instead snapping his fingers again so that the dessert appeared on the table.

“Excuse you, I wasn’t finished,” Lucius objected, his knife and fork disappearing from his hands, along the piece of crackling he’d been saving for last from the pork. Key lime pie appeared on his plate instead; with a long-suffering sigh, Lucius dug in.

The rest of the meal was pleasant, with Sirius entertaining everyone (mainly Harry) with stories of Narcissa causing trouble which she vehemently denied. Even Draco mentioned a single story of her sneaking him sweets after dinner, grinning.

Sirius was in a great mood by the time Kreacher cleared the table of their dessert, leaning back in his chair and patting his belly in satisfaction. “Nothing beats the Welcome Home feast,” Sirius sang, chuckling to himself. 

He was happy enough that he didn’t comment on the marble bust that Narcissa had snuck into the entryway, instead patting the bald headed man on his head (the bust frowned at Sirius but said nothing) as he headed upstairs for the night. Even Harry had to admit that the dinner was enjoyable. It had a rocky start, sure, and it wasn’t loud and rambunctious like the Weasley’s were, but it was funny and relaxed in a way Harry didn’t expect. 

He must have had too much sugar, though, because he struggled to get to sleep that night. Once he was dragged under into the clutches of sleep, he was unable to escape.

_ It was so cold in the maze that Harry’s breath fogged in front of him. It was dark, so dark the light from his wand barely lit his surroundings. He couldn’t see the dead ends of the maze until he was practically on top of them; he was stressed and frustrated and he just wanted  _ out  _ because he knew, he knew what was coming, and maybe if he found the Cup first this time he could save Cedric -  _

_ Fleur was screaming for help. Harry ran in the direction of her voice, ran and ran and ran and ran, trying to force his legs to move but it was like wading through glue. Harry dropped to his knees in exhaustion, his hands sprawling in the dirt. Suddenly, Fleur was at his side, being dragged under the bushes by the deadly vines. Her eyes begged him for help even as her mouth was covered, but Harry was so tired from running he could do nothing but scrabble through the mud to try and reach her. No matter how much mud he swept aside, Fleur couldn’t be found. And, when he came to accept that Fleur was long gone, sucked into the dirt, he apologised. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, he cried, to no answer. _

_ Then he was face to face with Viktor, and Harry knew it was too late. Cedric appeared at his side and used his shoulder to push Viktor onto the ground where the vines were waiting for all of them; Harry began to struggle against them but they tied his legs together and tripped him over, making him fall directly onto the gravestone of Tom Riddle. _

_ “Who are you? What do you want?” Cedric yelled. _

_ Harry tried to get up but he was stuck. He couldn’t speak or scream or move even as he watched Voldemort approach him, his cloak billowing out behind him. _

_ “Kill the spare!” _

_ Pettigrew raised his wand and shouted the spell; Cedric crumpled onto the ground and it hurt Harry just as much as it did the first time he saw it. He screamed and cried for Cedric even though he knew he wouldn’t hear anything in response. He choked back sobs as Voldemort kicked him. _

_ “Pick up your wand, Harry, go on, pick it up!”  _

_ Harry could do nothing but obey. He was terrified and could only move because of the adrenaline running through his veins and the knowledge that if he didn’t pick up his wand right now Voldemort was going to kill him without mercy -  _

“Wake up, Potter!”

Gasping, Harry shot out of bed, falling onto the floor. It was dark and he couldn’t see and Voldemort was mere metres away from him about to duel him. Harry scrambled for his wand, but as his fingers clamped over it, it was ripped out of his hands.

“Calm down!” a boy hissed. Harry recognised that voice - it wasn’t a voice he wanted to be wandless around, and he struggled against the grip, scared and confused and unable to get a deep enough breath to cry out for help. “Shush! You’re fine, you’re awake!”

Harry’s wand was forced back into his hand, and with it came a warm sense of security along with clarity - it was just a dream, just a nightmare. He shook on the cold wooden floor of his room, gulping for breath.

“Deep breaths,” Draco whispered, rubbing Harry on the shoulder until he could sit upright, leaning his back against his bed. Harry tried to slow his breathing, brushing his hair out of his eyes. He was drenched in sweat.  
“Glasses,” Harry whispered. “Can’t see.”

They were pressed into his hand and Harry jammed them onto his face. They were cracked, but Harry didn’t care - it was the least of his problems, the most pressing one being the blond boy sitting opposite him. Draco was resting on his knees looking ready to move at a moment's notice, his hair mussed and eyes a bit puffy. He was in a matching set of pyjamas. He’d clearly been pulled out of bed by Harry’s nightmare.

“Sorry,” Harry said once he could get enough air into his lungs to speak.  
“You were shouting,” Draco said.  
Harry wished that surprised him. “Yeah. I know.”

Harry pulled a leg into his chest, hanging his arms around it loosely. The unasked question sat heavily between them. With Ron, Harry didn’t need to explain his nightmares. He already knew. He would sit beside Harry on his bed, rubbing his back until he fell back asleep, or would talk to him about quidditch and homework, or would stay up all night with him until it was time to get ready for class. Ron just knew what he needed.

Harry didn’t want to ask Draco to give him that same comfort. It was with some shock that he peered at Draco and found him making himself more comfortable on the floor, tucking his legs under him. Harry took a deep breath, and Draco looked up with interest.

“I dream about him,” Harry admitted, and there was no question of who he was. “Often.”   
“Did you really watch Cedric die?” Draco asked, and Harry nodded slowly.  
“I don’t always dream about it, though,” he said. “Sometimes it’s…”  
“What?”  
“I dream about dying a lot,” Harry admitted, embarrassed to even say it aloud. It didn’t help that Draco snorted at the admission.  
“Well, how many times have you almost died?” Draco said drily. “It’s only natural.”  
“I guess.”

They sat in silence for a long time. It wasn’t awkward, or malicious, or judgemental. Harry sat there avoiding Draco’s eyes, focusing on his steady breathing. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend it was Ron there instead.

The house creaked loudly and Harry flinched, turning towards the door with his wand lifted slightly.

“It’s just an old house,” Draco said. 

But it could have been the snake, sliding up the stairs just like in Tom Riddle’s house, or Voldemort himself, quietly sneaking in through the front door.

“Why are you here?” Harry asked instead, partly to distract himself, partly out of curiosity.  
“You were shouting,” Draco said again.  
“So?”   
“So,” Draco huffed. “You woke me up, didn’t you?”   
“Yes,” Harry said, irritated. Draco was being deliberately obtuse. “But  _ now,  _ here, in my bedroom.”  
Draco shifted slightly. He could have been rearranging his weight on his bum. “Everyone deals with nightmares differently,” he said.   
Harry frowned at his cryptic answer. “You don’t get nightmares,” he scoffed. It wasn’t a question. There was no way the spoiled boy opposite him dreamed of anything worth crying over.   
“Well that’s quite presumptuous of you,” Draco said. Harry couldn’t tell if it was meant to be mean or not. “But I wasn’t talking about myself, anyway.”

Harry rolled his eyes. Malfoy was the hardest person on the planet to have a conversation with. Harry didn’t know if it was the Malfoy or the Slytherin traits that bothered him more. Maybe they were intertwined.

They sat in silence after that, Harry trying to close his eyes and soothe himself with Draco’s breathing pattern, matching it. He didn’t know how long they sat there, but it was long enough that the sweat in his clothes had dried and he was feeling sleepy again.

“I’m gonna go back to bed,” Draco said eventually. Harry opened his eyes, panicked. He was just feeling like himself again. Ron had never left him hanging before. But there was no way Harry was going to ask Draco to stay, so he said goodnight and clenched his wand tighter. Draco closed the door behind him and left Harry in darkness. He took several deep breaths to calm himself.

There was no use telling himself that Voldemort wasn’t real or a threat, but he could tell himself that it was okay to be scared, because there were people who cared about him and who would help him. Sirius, Ron, Hermione, Dumbledore… and apparently, even Draco Malfoy, in his odd way. 


	7. Chapter 7

When Harry woke the next morning, Draco didn’t mention the dream and Harry was grateful. They crossed paths in the kitchen, where Kreacher had prepared porridge - enough for everyone, despite Sirius’ disapproving look. Draco had helped himself and Harry did the same, sitting as far away from him as possible, wishing he had the foresight to stay in bed another thirty minutes.

Sirius repaired Harry’s glasses for him without question, laughing it off. “You stepped on them? We’ve gotta get you some furniture for your room, then. And some clothes. Blimey, Harry, how old is this?”

Sirius tugged at another of Dudley’s hand-me-downs, shaking his head. 

“Did you leave all your good things at Hogwarts?” Sirius joked. Harry shrugged. Harry had never cared very much about what he wore, and neither had Ron or Hermione.  
“Don’t have any,” Harry said simply. Sirius frowned a little.  
“What do you mean, you don’t have any?” Sirius asked. “I thought I’d always just caught you on a bad day.”   
“Aunt Petunia never wanted to spend any money on clothes and gave me Dudley’s,” Harry said.   
“Merlin, Harry, you can’t be walking around town in hand-me-downs,” Sirius groaned. “What will people think of my parenting skills?”  
Harry sniggered. “I don’t know. I don’t really like robes, anyway.”  
“Aw, but you looked so sweet at my hearing,” Sirius cooed. Harry laughed, pushing away Sirius’ hand, which had reached out to ruffle his hair. “I’m going to Gringotts after breakfast to pay the fine,” Sirius said. “And I’m claiming the title of Lord and your guardian today too. You can come with me.”

It was an offer Harry wasn’t particularly interested in, especially after his last trip to Diagon, but he got the feeling he couldn’t refuse. Sirius kept shooting him dirty looks, evidently offended by his clothing, so Harry finished his porridge in record time, burning his mouth on it, and left him with Draco. He went upstairs and changed his outfit because he wanted to, not because Sirius implied that he should.

And, when he looked at himself in the bathroom mirror, he kept messing up his hair until the mirror swore at him, and walked away with a grin on his face.

Sirius shouted at Harry to hurry up, so he bounded downstairs and almost knocked over the stone, bald bust, much to his disgruntlement. Sirius was wearing jeans and a sweater, looking neater and more muggle than Harry had ever seen him.

“You see this? This is what you should be wearing,” Sirius said pointedly. “Let’s go.”

They disapparated on the step of Grimmauld Place to the Leaky Cauldron and began walking down the cobbled street to Gringotts.

“Those are muggle clothes,” Harry said.   
“Very observant, Harry.”  
“I thought wizards didn’t understand muggle clothes,” he said, thinking of all the times he’d seen wizards try and mingle with muggles, particularly at the Quidditch World Cup, with disastrous results.  
“Traditional ones don’t, no,” Sirius hummed.  
“And I’ve never seen a shop selling muggle clothes here,” Harry added, as Sirius seemed to not understand what Harry was trying to get at.   
“Have you forgotten I was best friends with your mother, who was a muggleborn?” Sirius said with a sly grin on his face.  
Harry felt a bit foolish after that. “I suppose I did,” Harry admitted.  
“We used to go into muggle London all the time for a laugh. Remind me to tell you about that time James and I got into trouble with the police because of my motorbike,” Sirius chuckled. After a moment, he added, “When Lily and James started dating, she took us out in the muggle world a lot, especially because it was safer than the wizarding areas at the time.”

Harry stared at his feet. Would there ever be a time when talking about his parents didn’t hurt?

They made their way up the front steps of Gringotts and waited for the wooden doors to open for them, Sirius pushing his hair out of his eyes. Inside, the goblins were busy checking their gems and metals and coins, but there were very few wizards milling about. Sirius headed towards the closest goblin and began talking in low voices. After a long time, the goblin handed Sirius a small pile of forms and a bundle of notes Harry recognised as pounds.

“Bureaucratic bullshit,” Sirius grumbled, flipping through the pages. “Couldn’t have put it in a scroll, could they?”

Unsure of what to say, Harry stayed silent whilst Sirius walked with his nose buried in the papers, miraculously not bumping into people. Eventually he folded them up and slipped them under his arm.

“I’ve been thinking about getting a new wand,” Sirius said conversationally. “The one I have, well, it’s a leftover from the house. It works well enough, but it’s not the same, you know?”

Harry hummed noncommittally. He didn’t know, not really, as his wand had always worked perfectly for him and he’d never had to use another.

“You don’t have to come with me. Twilfitt and Tattings isn’t far down from Ollivanders, I can meet you there,” Sirius suggested, and with no other ideas, Harry agreed. Ollivander gave him the creeps, anyway.

Harry walked in the direction Sirius pointed, walking slowly as he’d never been to the shop before and didn’t want to miss it. He paused in front of a large building that was under construction, peering around the tape and barriers to see inside, like a few other shoppers. He couldn’t see anything of interest, but the place was painted bright orange and purple.

“Harry!”

He turned on the spot to the familiar voices. Fred and George stood there with arms full of boxes, identical grins on their face. Harry waved and hurried over to help them.

“Found our little project, eh?” George said. He laughed at Harry’s confused face. “Yeah, that’s ours! Well, it will be, when it’s finished in a few weeks.”

“You’re opening a shop?” Harry asked, dumbfounded.   
“Yeah! Our owl orders have been so successful, we thought we’d give it a try,” Fred said. “Couldn’t have done it without you, ‘course.”  
“Our investor,” George grinned.  
Harry rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe it, honestly. You two, running a shop?”

The twins laughed good-naturedly, leading Harry around back to a hidden entrance in the alley. George tapped his wand in a strange pattern on the bricks and the door appeared. Inside was dark and dusty, smelling thickly of paint and other metallic things. Strips of wood and cardboard boxes covered every available space.

“We’ve managed to build up some solid inventory,” Fred said, spreading his arms out wide. “Cool, eh?”  
“Had to move out from Mum’s, there wasn’t enough room to store everything anymore. But we’ve got a flat right upstairs, and she sends food for us by owl,” George added.  
“It’s brilliant,” Harry said, grinning broadly. He couldn’t have imagined a better way for his money to be spent. Fred and George were  _ geniuses  _ \- even if Hermione disapproved of their products.  
“Glad you think so!” George said. “Help yourself to some stuff, whilst you’re here - owl orders are paused whilst we’re setting up. We’ve got some extendable ears over here, and our puking pastilles - these are new, our Peruvian darkness powder, that’s gonna be a huge hit…”  
“I can’t help myself,” Harry objected, noting that the twins rolled their eyes in opposite ways. “I’ve got some cash on me, hang on.”   
“Not a chance, Harry, you don’t owe us anything,” Fred said firmly. “Without you, we wouldn’t be here. We won’t forget that.”  
“But -”  
“No buts. Swing by when we’ve opened, though, there’s a lot of surprises in store for you!”

Feeling guilty but doing it anyway, Harry helped himself to a few of his favourite WWW products, and the new Peruvian powder George had recommended. They pulled out a small paper bag with WWW emblazoned with orange and purple lettering and helped Harry load it up.

“I should really be going, Sirius will be looking for me,” Harry said regretfully. “Thank you for this, really. I’ll definitely be back.”  
“Hope so,” Fred grinned. He looked at his twin, nodded, then led Harry to the front door instead of the back, where they’d entered.  
“The  _ Prophet’s  _ been sneaking around, trying to get a glimpse inside,” George smirked.   
“Don’t mind us using you for a bit of marketing, do you, Harry?” Fred asked without waiting for an answer, opening the front door and ushering Harry out.

As they’d predicted, a photographer was waiting out front and immediately started snapping pictures. Fred and George waved merrily.

“Not long now,” they announced. “Opening soon!”  
“What are you selling?” the reporter cried, waving his quill for attention.   
“Something you’ve never seen in Diagon Alley before!” one of the twins responded, but Harry didn’t see who. He waved goodbye and pushed through the crowds, returning to Ollivanders just in time to see Sirius exiting.  
“No robes suit your fancy?” he asked, gesturing to the too-small bag he was holding. “What’s that?”   
“Uh - presents from the Weasley twins,” Harry said. Sirius shrugged.   
“Alright. Let’s go to London then,” he said.

They spent a few hours in the mall, much to Harry’s chagrin. He had never been shopping for himself but Sirius seemed to know what he was looking for, grabbing things for Harry to try without asking his size or opinion. Harry obediently tried things on and was pleased by what he saw in the mirror. He found he wanted to look at himself from all angles rather than shrugging and walking away from his reflection. He readjusted his glasses and ruffled up his hair a bit, and exited with a grin.

He had never understood the phrase ‘retail therapy’ when Aunt Petunia shrieked it at Uncle Vernon, but he thought he was starting to. The confidence, the happiness - it made him feel like a whole new person, and it was a feeling Harry could get used to. He wondered if Ginny or Hermione would notice the change, then shook the thought away. They’d never cared about his clothes before, and he doubted they would now.

“I think that’s about all,” Sirius said. He turned slowly on the spot, looking out of the corner of his eye. “There’s just one thing I want to get…”

Sirius ducked into a fragrance store, expecting Harry to follow. Sirius dropped his bags at his feet and reached for the nearest bottle of cologne, sniffing deeply and moaning quietly.

“Oh, cologne, how I’ve missed you,” Sirius almost wept, sniffing another bottle. “Seriously, Harry, you’ve know idea how bad Azkaban smelled. You like this one?”

For the next thirty minutes, Harry’s nose was assaulted by various colognes, then coffee beans, then more colognes. By the time Sirius had settled on the scent he liked, Harry was sure his nose no longer worked.

“Which one do you want?” Sirius asked.  
“I don’t want one,” Harry said, shaking his head a little.   
“Tough. Which one do you want?”

He was about to head to the counter and Harry was feeling a little woozy after all the smelling, so he pointed to a bottle at random that he vaguely remembered smelling. Sirius wrinkled his nose and sniffed it; deeming it sufficient, he bought it without further hassle.

Exhausted and barely able to lift his arms for all the bags he carried, Harry followed Sirius out of the mall, dragging his feet. Sirius seemed to have just as much energy now as he did when he started; he laughed at Harry’s pace.

“You’re just like James,” he laughed. “Lily always wore him out at the mall.”

They apparated back to Grimmauld Place and Harry headed straight to his room, determined to have a nap and do nothing else for the day. But when he walked in, he quickly backed out, thinking he’d entered Draco’s room by mistake.

But no, there was no mistaking the photo of Harry, Ron and Hermione, taken in their third year on their first trip to Hogsmede. It was framed instead of tacked to the wall, but it was definitely his. The poster of the Holyhead Harpies, which Ginny had left in the bedroom that Harry had claimed downstairs, was still in its place above his bed. The pile of dirty laundry that was sitting beside his trunk in the corner of the room was definitely his, too.

“What do you think?” 

Narcissa popped her head in and was smiling at him. Shocked into silence, Harry could only mumble a few incoherent words.

“It’s all spare furniture from the Manor,” Narcissa said, waltzing in uninvited. “Draco mentioned that you needed some things.”

Some things, perhaps, but Harry didn’t expect all this. There was a new desk against the wall, black wood lined with gold details, Hedwig’s cage sitting atop it looking rather worn in comparison. He had a new bedside table, also black stained wood with golden handles on the drawers. A standing wardrobe that looked quite regal, if a bit old fashioned. There was even a new chandelier in his room; gold, again, with crystals dangling from it that Harry wanted to think were fake, but knew probably weren’t. 

“I stepped on my glasses this morning,” Harry said dumbly, thinking of Draco’s cold fingers handing them over in the darkness. He must have thought Harry was an idiot for putting them on the ground.  
“There’s a little compartment here for your wand,” Narcissa said, ignoring his comment (probably for the best). She tapped the side of the table with her finger, pointing to the almost invisible hooks. On top of the table, there was a lantern with gold glass and a candle inside, already burning. A box of tissues in a crystal casing glinted unnecessarily bright.

“You changed my bed,” Harry noticed. 

He had previously been sleeping on a lumpy twin, which had now been replaced by a bed of double the size and a base that was in a matching wood design as his bedside table.

“A good bed equals good posture. A boy of your size could hardly fit comfortably on a bed so small,” Narcissa teased. She pointed to the armoire. “You can get Kreacher to pop your clothes in there. It’s a nasty habit to leave them in your school trunk. The hamper’s right there, just so you know.”

Harry squashed his emotions down, forcing back the tears that had sprung when Narcissa spoke. She had sounded… motherly. 

“Thank you,” Harry choked out. “You didn’t need to do this.”  
Narcissa rested her hand on Harry’s shoulder and squeezed gently. “Don’t be ridiculous. This house is so derelict, it was my pleasure to do it.” 

Though she sounded aloft, she fixed Harry with a genuine smile, and he was struck with the overwhelming desire to hug her. He had never expected the stone-cold matriarch to be so soft behind closed doors. Tapping her hand with his own briefly, he moved out of her reach to stop himself from doing something embarrassingly stupid. Narcissa took this as a dismissal, exiting the room quietly, offering him a sweet smile as she closed the door behind her.

Harry sat and bounced on his new bed carefully. It didn’t squeak, which was an improvement. He looked around and noticed there were no cobwebs in the corners of the roof, nor any dust floating in the air. Despite having more furniture in it, the room seemed bigger, somehow. Had Narcissa enlarged it with a spell?

It was a question for another day. Harry slowly went through Dudley’s old clothes and put them in garbage bags for Kreacher to toss, keeping only a few shirts that were still a little loose on him to lounge around in. Then, he unpacked his new clothes and hung them up in the armoire, using the identical hangers that were sitting inside. It was almost a soothing process, and he took the extra time to organise the wardrobe by the clothes he fancied best, then did it again by colour, knowing full well he would never sort through it again or make any effort to upkeep the order. Lastly, he put his new cologne on top of his bedside table and his underwear inside the drawers.

When he sat on his bed again and surveyed his room, breathing in the new furniture and new clothes and new, new, new, Harry grinned to himself. The furniture might technically be secondhand, but it felt like his. It felt like home.


	8. Chapter 8

Dressed in his new jeans that were a bit tight around the crotch and a button down, Harry headed through the Floo to the Weasley’s. Sirius had organised the fireplace to be connected to the floo with some difficulty, talking rapidly through it to someone at the Ministry for most of the morning. But by the time lunch was over, Sirius announced it was good to go, and Harry eagerly stepped through it.

“Ron?” Harry called. “Mrs Weasley? Hello?”

The Burrow was surprisingly empty, but it was a sunny day, so Harry rationalised they were playing quidditch in the yard. He headed to the kitchen to peek through the windows - in the distance over the apple orchard, yes, he could see brooms flying in the sky.

Behind him the door squeaked open and he turned to greet whichever Weasley had entered. Harry’s heart beat a little harder in his chest when he saw Ginny closing the door behind her, dressed in a tight spaghetti-strap top and little shorts. He had to clear his throat before speaking.

“Uh, hi, Ginny,” Harry greeted. Ginny looked up in surprise.   
“Harry! Oh, I barely recognised you!” she laughed, darting forward to embrace him in a quick hug. Harry wrapped his arms around her waist, noting that she was warm. She might have been lying in the sun, or just gotten off her broom. She pulled away, leaving her hands on his shoulders as she surveyed him. “You look… different.”  
Harry laughed. “Yeah. Sirius bought me new clothes,” he said. Ginny smiled.  
“I actually see a silhouette in there now,” she teased, poking at his ribs. “I saw Sirius’ hearing in the  _ Prophet. Harry Potter, aged twelve, attended the second hearing of the criminal Sirius Black, crying out for his godfather’s innocence.” _

They dissolved into sniggers at her impersonation of Rita Skeeter.

“Anyway, you’re doing well? You look good,” Ginny said, rubbing her eye. “Happy.”  
“I am,” Harry said. 

He felt gratified by her compliments. It made him feel confident. Ginny was still wiping her eye, though, attempting to get a hair that was caught in her lashes. Harry reached forward and pulled it out for her, tucking it behind her ear slowly.

“Thanks,” she murmured. 

She stared at him for a brief moment before shaking her head a little to rearrange her hair. Harry followed it with his eyes, caught by the image she made; he imagined her doing it as she dismounted from her broom, her skin shining with sweat - she would pull the hair tie holding her hair in the ponytail she favoured and let her hair loose, fluffing it around her shoulders as she walked towards him -

“Well, if you’re looking for Ron, he’s outside with the twins.”  
“Huh? Oh, yeah, Ron,” Harry repeated, feeling slightly foolish. “In the sun. I mean, in the garden, with the twins. Yeah.”  
Ginny smiled and turned away. “See you, Harry.”   
“Bye, Gin.”

Harry mentally kicked himself as he walked outside, following the sounds of the twins cheering. Ginny was like a sister to him, he reminded himself, and he had no business thinking of her as anything but.

“Hello, Harry!” Mrs Weasley greeted, putting her knitting down. “Don’t you look lovely!”  
“Thanks, Mrs Weasley,” Harry said, allowing himself to be pulled into a tight hug. “How are you?”   
“Wonderful, dear, as always. Are you staying for tea? Fred and George have come to visit as they haven’t learned how to cook for themselves yet. Oh, did you hear, they’re opening up a shop in Diagon Alley?”  
“I did hear, it’s brilliant,” Harry said. It was apparently the wrong thing to say, as Mrs Weasley pulled away with a slight frown on her face.   
“Yes, well,  _ RONALD!”  _ she yelled over her shoulder, hoping to get the attention of her son who was flying high in the air. “I’m getting hot in the sun, Harry, I’ll be heading inside. We’ll talk more later.”

She patted him clumsily on the cheek and walked away, her knitting trailing behind her. Harry looked up and waved at the brooms, unable to tell from this distance which one was which. As they descended and two people began doing loop-de-loops, he figured out which one was his best mate.

“Blimey, Harry, about time!” Ron yelled as he got off his broom. He was bright red and his hair a mess, but he was smiling all the same. “Been wondering if you’d been killed.”  
“Harry, killed?” George questioned mockingly.   
“Never, not Harry!” Fred added in horror. “The safest boy in the world!”  
“Untouchable!”  
“Unkillable!”  
“Practically immortal -”  
“Yes, yes, go away now,” Ron said, pushing Harry up the hill towards their house. He threw his broom towards George who caught it swiftly and returned it to the shed with Fred. They walked in silence for a few moments, Harry content to breathe in the fresh air, smiling as he did so.  


“New clothes?” Ron asked, gesturing to Harry’s outfit. He followed Ron's gaze, looking down at his feet. The smile dropped off his face. Unlike when Ginny noticed, making him feel confident and bigger, somehow, Harry cowered under Ron's accusing eyes, searching for justification.   
“It was Sirius’ idea,” Harry said defensively. Ron looked at Harry up and down once more, grunting.  
“How’s Malfoy?” Ron asked.   
“So far so good,” he said. Ron twisted his lips unhappily.   
“What happened with them, anyway? You didn’t say at the station.”

Harry launched into the tale of his summer so far. Ron was great, growling at the right moments and expressing the same doubts Harry had.

“You sound like you feel sorry for them,” Ron said when Harry finished.   
“I guess I do, a bit,” Harry admitted. “You should have seen them, Ron, they were bloody miserable.”  
“It’s not like they didn’t bring it upon themselves,” Ron grumbled, but when Harry didn’t agree, he sighed. “They’re assholes, the whole family. I wouldn’t trust any Slytherin as far as I could throw ‘em, but Sirius is right. We need as many people on our side as we can get.”   
“I wouldn’t say they’re on our side,” Harry said. “They’re more like -”  
“Their own side,” Ron nodded. “Still. Better than  _ his  _ side.”

Harry agreed. They made themselves comfortable in Ron’s room in the attic, which was a bit warm with the afternoon sun. The ghoul bounced about upstairs until Ron hit the roof with a shoe.

“You should probably write to Hermione, let her know you’re alright,” Ron said after a while. “I was getting a bit worried myself. I tried to floo you but it was blocked, bruised my head trying.”  
“Sirius had some trouble with it, I think,” Harry said, sighing. “I don’t know what to write. I tried, honestly.”   
“Maybe just tell her you’re alive and you’ll explain it all when she gets back,” Ron suggested. 

Harry considered it. He made it sound like such an obvious solution, Harry couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of it himself. But then, Ron had always been a master procrastinator.

“Have you seen the papers?” Ron asked quietly. Harry shook his head. “More disappearances. No one from the Ministry is commenting.”   
“He’s still hiding,” Harry murmured. It wasn’t a question, and Ron didn’t answer, instead pursing his lips uncomfortably.  
“Dad’s getting real edgy about it,” he said. “He and Percy keep butting heads at work. Caused a few rows. And Mum keeps hounding me, asking me what I plan to do after Hogwarts and things. Don’t be surprised if she starts asking you questions, too.”   
“Why’s she doing that?”   
“Dunno. Fred and George are going to make loads with their joke shop,” Ron shrugged. “They’ll be the richest in the family. She doesn't need to worry about what I'm doing”

Harry sighed deeply and considered not staying for dinner purely to avoid this conversation. He’d thought about being an auror, and McGonagall had supported him, but if Harry was being honest with himself the threat of Voldemort had always been too real, too deadly, to consider much of a life plan. And, with the added bonus of seeing his future self dying of the plague after losing to Voldemort, he didn’t think a career was at the top of his priority list.

He opened his mouth to discuss this possibility with Ron, only to stop himself. Ron probably didn’t think about it like he did, since he didn’t come back from the future. He’d have to ask Hermione what she thought.

They were called down to eat and before Harry even had a chance to consider leaving, he was seated at the table beside Ginny and had a plate full of meat in front of him.

Harry tried his best to avoid knocking elbows with Ginny, scooting his seat across as much as possible. He sat on the corner of the table so it was quite easy to make more space, but when Ginny started giving him odd looks, he scooted back closer. There was no need to make a big deal out of it, right? Just because her skin was warm and soft against his and he was distracted by it didn’t mean anything. 

Mr Weasley came home halfway through dinner, greeting Harry exuberantly and congratulating him on Sirius’ trial. Then, he sat and started talking to Fred and George about things Harry didn’t understand - margins and rates and hoaxes and anti-evaporation spells.

“Speaking of,” Mrs Weasley said over her husband. “Harry, dear, are you excited for your O.W.L results? What are you hoping to get? They determine what job opportunities you get, you know.”

Ron coughed slightly.

“Erm - I’m not really sure,” Harry admitted. “I fainted in my History of Magic exam.”   
“Well, that doesn’t matter,” Mrs Weasley soothed. “History won’t affect you too much, unless you wanted to go into that field?”   
“I don’t think so, no,” Harry said. He had hoped to leave it there, but Mrs Weasley looked at him expectantly. “I’ve spoken to McGonagall about being an auror.”   
“A very difficult career,” Mrs Weasley said, nodding approvingly. “You need your N.E.W.Ts for that. So two more years of school ahead of you. What about you, Ronald? Have you decided yet?”   
“No,” Ron grumbled, stabbing his fork onto his plate viciously. “Might just do the auror thing like Harry.”   
Mrs Weasley frowned at her son. “You could do ‘the auror thing’ for yourself, you know,” she said pointedly.   
“Just leave it, Mum. The results won’t come out for ages. And if my grades are shit, I’ll just go work with Fred and George,” Ron huffed.  
“No swearing at the table!” Mrs Weasley scolded.   
“Ronniekins, we would only hire those with the best O.W.L results,” George said, pointing his knife at Ron.   
“So don’t rely on us to give you a wage,” Fred added.   
“What?” Ron cried.  
“It’s nice that you plan to stay in school,” Mrs Weasley said to Harry over the noise, but it fell on deaf ears, as everyone began picking on Ron good-naturedly.

Dinner wrapped up shortly after and despite Ron’s request to stay and play chess, Harry said his goodbyes and returned to Grimmauld Place, elated knowing that he could return any time he wanted. He owed it to Hermione to write her a letter and explain his situation, at the very least tell her he was okay like Ron suggested. He may even mention his worries of the future to her, hoping that she’d have good advice.

The study was on the first level so Harry trudged downstairs, seeing the door to his old room closed, a light buzz tingling Harry’s skin as he walked by indicating it was warded shut. The study, however, was open wide and the fire roaring if the orange light in the room was any indication. Looking forward to sitting in the warmth and relaxing, Harry entered the study only to halt to a stop.

It wasn’t empty like he had thought. In the back corner at the desk Harry had planned on using sat Draco, his head bowed over a book. Harry thought about turning around and writing his letter at his desk in his room, which he really should have done in the first place, he realised, when Draco lifted his head.

“Oh. It’s you,” Draco said flatly. Sneering a bit, he put his head back down, apparently content to ignore Harry.

It was too late to leave without it looking weird, so Harry plonked himself on the ground in front of the fire, using the coffee table as his desk. It was silent except for the fire cracking merrily, too small to be used as a floo but large enough to heat the whole room with ease. Harry tapped his quill against his chin as he thought about what he would write.

“Too good to use the sofa, Potter?”  
Harry didn’t move his eyes from his parchment. “Shut up, Malfoy.”  
“It’s rude to ignore your guests.”

Harry looked over his shoulder and glared at Draco, immediately angered by his pompous attitude. If Harry wasn't mistaken, Draco looked pleased by his reaction. Determined to ignore him, Harry firmly turned his back and returned to his letter.

_ Dear Hermione,  _ he wrote.

"Who are you writing to?" Draco demanded, now peering over Harry's shoulder. Harry flinched away, instinctively covering the parchment with his hands.  
"I said  _ bugger off,  _ Malfoy!"  
"Touchy, touchy. Embarrassed, are we?"

Growling under his breath, Harry collected all his things in a hurry. He should have known better than to think he could share a room with Draco in peace. Rage pulsed through him like an old friend, comforting him with its white-hot flames.

“Why are you like this?” Harry spat, jumping to his feet. Draco raised his brows.  
“Like what?” he drawled, his eyes sparkling.  
“So bloody annoying,” Harry said, thumping his shoulder into Draco as hard as he could as he passed, hurting himself in the process. He relished in the pain. “Just stay away from me!”  
“This is our house now, Harry,” Draco called out mockingly behind him. “Remember? You wanted us to stay.”  
“Don’t make me regret it,” Harry warned, pausing at the door to look over his shoulder at Draco warningly. The back part of his brain recognised that his rage was not his own, but he was too caught up in it to distance himself. Instead he chose to let it consume him, his scar burning. “Don’t think I won’t change my mind. I didn’t do it because I care about you or your family, I did it because I want Voldemort to lose -”

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, moaning.  _ Not now! _

_ He was walking through a tiled hallway, Nagini by his side, turning to the drawing room to see it darkened and empty.  _

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”   
“He’s - he’s -”

Harry slid down the door jam, spilling his ink all over the carpet, trying to resist sinking to his knees but it was so  _ hard  _ when it felt like his scar was about to split open. 

_ The kitchen was devoid of elves for him to question, and a quick spell revealed that the manor was empty of all living forms. Voldemort rushed into the study to find it empty, the master bedroom, the bathroom, every other room completely devoid of furniture. Every empty corner angered him more and he pulled out his wand, fingering it, letting it spark dangerously. _

_ There was nothing left to do. There was no furniture to break, no elves to torture, no peacocks within reach. _

_ He pressed his finger to his mark and summoned. _

Harry pulled himself out of Voldemort’s head, gasping. He fell onto his bum, barely catching himself, unable to stop the sob that formed in his throat. His forearm was stinging and Harry saw little droplets of blood dripping down it onto the floor.

“You alright, mate?” Sirius asked, looking anxious. He was squatting in front of Harry, holding two wands.   
“Sirius. He - he   
knows,” Harry panted, reaching for Sirius’ arm as if he could force him to  _ understand _ . “He knows they’re gone.”  
“The Malfoy’s?”  Harry nodded. His hands were beginning to shake and he hid it by clutching Sirius even tighter. “He searched their house - he was so  _ angry,  _ I couldn’t -”   
“Shh, it’s alright,” Sirius soothed, pulling Harry into his chest, patting his hair down. “You don’t have to say anything, so long as you’re okay.”

But Harry didn’t want to be held. His heart was still beating fast and he was still furious, even if it was fading. He pulled out of Sirius’ grip and looked at his forearm, where the Dark Mark had been mere minutes before - where he’d apparently tried to scratch it off.

“I’m fine,” Harry said, tearing his eyes away from the bloody mess. He looked up to see Draco, Narcissa and Lucius in the study, watching him like he was a rabid dog that might bite. “Did you - he tried to summon you,” Harry said, unable to ask the question on the tip of his tongue. Slowly, Lucius shook his head.   
“No, he didn’t.”  
“Are you calling me a liar?” Harry shouted, ignoring Sirius’ hushes.   
“No,” Lucius said calmly. “I think he called someone else. It definitely activated, I felt it, but he wasn’t summoning me.”  
Harry finally deflated, his anger subsiding and leaving him weak and tired. “Then who?” he asked, looking helplessly at Sirius, who shrugged.  
“Why don’t you just go back in his head and find out?” Draco suggested, looking at his nails disinterestedly. Harry scoffed.  
“Because it doesn’t work like that,” Harry responded mockingly. “I don’t get to choose when it happens - it just does, when he’s angry, or - I don’t know how it happens, okay?”   
“But it’s just legilimency,” Draco argued.   
“Leave it, Draco,” Narcissa said quietly.

Harry looked at Sirius, who had pursed his lips. Sirius pressed Harry’s wand into his hand.

“You were going a bit nuts,” Sirius said quietly. “I had to take it from you. I’m sorry.”  
Harry frowned at his wand. He didn’t remember pulling it out of his pocket. “What?”   
“You were sparking up,” Sirius admitted. "Almost caught the carpet on fire."   
“What?” Harry whispered, confused. “I’m sorry, Sirius, really.”  
“No harm done.” Sirius smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Just, er, you’re alright now, yeah? Good. Nar, a word?”

Sirius pulled away from Harry, gesturing to Narcissa with his head. Harry moved out of the doorway and let the adults leave before gathering up his snapped quill and empty ink bottle. The parchment had crumpled underfoot but was still usable. 

Draco watched him leave in silence.

* * *

_ Dear Hermione, _

_ I hope your holiday in France is going well. I miss you loads. I’m sorry about not writing earlier, it’s been a very busy summer so far. It hasn’t been easy, but I’m fine, and I will explain more when I see you. _

_ Mrs Weasley says our O.W.L results will arrive soon. Have you thought about the impact they’ll have on our future? Considering what happened at the end of term, I’m not sure being an auror is the right path anymore. It might be worth waiting. _

_ Love, Harry. _

* * *

_ Dear Harry, _

_ I was so pleased to receive your letter. I was getting worried when Ron said he hadn’t heard from you! I hope your explanation is very good as I have been very concerned about what you said, but I trust you, and I’m glad you’re alright. _

_ The results come out in two weeks, which is when I should be at the Burrow. We can talk more about it then. But, regardless of what happened at the end of term, it’s important to still have a long-term plan and prepare to achieve it. Nothing is set in stone. Personally, I lie awake every night worrying that I won’t get the grades I need for my NEWTs.  _

_ France has been lovely. We’re skiing at the moment, and Mum and Dad are letting me try all the wine even though I’m underage. It’s not as nice as I’d thought it would be. But the croissants - Harry, you’ve got to try them! Heat them up first, okay? I’ve attached some to Hedwig as best I can, hopefully they don’t go stale or get wet in the rain! _

_ I’ve got to go, Mum’s calling me for dinner. See you soon! _

_ Lots of love,  
_ _ Hermione. _


	9. Chapter 9

For the next few days, it was like walking on eggshells whenever he entered a room.

Unable to take the pitying glances from Sirius, the suspicious looks of Narcissa, the narrowed gaze of Lucius like he was an experiment yet to understand, Harry took to his favourite pastime - hiding in his room. Harry ignored Ron’s floo messages and Sirius’ requests to join them for dinner. He stayed in his room, staring at his wand on his bed. 

There was really nothing special about his wand. It was brown. It had a smooth handle that curved to Harry’s grip perfectly. And that was it.

But it sparked when Harry was in Voldemort’s head, and what did that mean? Was he losing himself? Did his wand no longer obey just him? Harry wasn’t sure which idea scared him more. When contemplating the loss of his magical control got too much, he tossed his wand aside and stared at the roof instead.

His mood would still fluctuate, from sad to mad and back again, but Harry understood it wasn’t him. It was Voldemort, leaking through their connection and taking over. He knew what Hermione would say.

_You’re supposed to close it, like Dumbledore wanted!_

But Harry didn’t want to close it. He wanted to _use_ it. What was the point of being able to see into Voldemort’s mind otherwise? Now, instead of Hermione, Harry could hear Draco.

_Just go back into his mind, how hard could it be?_

After several attempts, Harry concluded it was extremely difficult, which angered him enough to stomp out of his room. Stomach grumbling, he went to the kitchen, pausing at the threshold.

Sirius, Narcissa and Lucius were seated at the table talking in low voices, their voices carrying before they knew Harry was there. They were whispering about him. Grumpy, Harry grabbed a chair and deliberately dragged it along the tiles, scraping it loudly. Their whispering stopped immediately.

“Hi, Harry,” Sirius greeted, straightening from their little huddle. He spoke too cheerfully to be anything other than guilty. Harry was familiar with the lie from Hogwarts. He grunted in response, digging into the crepes that Kreacher had prepared and smothering it with jam. “Sleep well?”

Harry grunted again, making Sirius laugh.

“Enough small talk, Sirius,” Narcissa drawled. “Harry, I’m concerned that your connection with the Dark Lord can be used both ways, and my family’s safety is at risk.”

Harry automatically opened his mouth to assure her that it wasn’t the case, but he stopped himself. Doubt trickled in. 

“Not to mention, considering how easily he was able to place a false vision in your head earlier in the year, it is imperative that we teach you how to control this connection you have immediately,” Narcissa said.   
“We’re going to teach you occlumency,” Sirius explained.   
Harry groaned loudly. “I can’t do it.”  
“Not with that attitude,” Sirius mocked. He stared at Harry in a way he knew meant no arguments. “We’re starting today. Narcissa has very kindly offered to teach you.”   
“Snape already tried -”  
“I am not Severus Snape,” Narcissa interrupted. “I taught Draco, I taught Lucius, and I’m sure I can teach you.”

Harry looked at the three adults, who had obviously decided there was no room for negotiation, and mumbled his agreement. 

The lessons with Narcissa were just as painful as the ones with Professor Snape, but Harry coped a little better with them. Narcissa taught him some theory before attacking his mind. She explained how to build a barrier around his brain that will protect him from unwanted entry, going through the basics of building a strong defence until she was sure he understood. She also taught him that the intent of the legilimens played a very large role in the attack, and even let him practice on her. 

“They’re two sides of the same sickle,” Narcissa said. “You learn one, you learn the other.”

Not that he gathered much from her, as she had a strong defence - but, by letting Harry test his will against hers, he became more familiar with the magic and understood how to bend it to his will. He became familiar with the threads that bound magic together, and discovered that they felt different, too. And, long after the sessions were over, when Harry was lying in bed in the dark, he tried to follow them to Voldemort with no success. But every night he practised. 

It was only when another nightmare struck that Harry saw Draco. He couldn’t remember what he’d been dreaming about but it shook him deeply; it was one of those nights where Ron would have laid next to Harry and stayed awake with him until morning, talking to him about the spells they were learning and the homework that was due, or the current leaders in the Quidditch league.

Harry looked at his bedside table. His wand was still tucked into the little compartment on the side, and his glasses sat in perfect condition. He slipped them on and used the matches to light the candle, letting it fill the room with a golden glow. The room cast long shadows, and Harry jumped when he saw Draco kneeling beside his bed.

“Shit. You scared me,” Harry hissed. Draco looked affronted.  
“Excuse me for coming to your aid,” he huffed. 

Perhaps sensing Harry wasn’t in the mood for his usual barbs, Draco sighed.

“It’s freezing in here,” he commented more gently.   
“Yeah,” Harry agreed. He noticed Draco’s bare feet. “You can sit on the bed if you want.”  
“Thanks.”

Draco sat gingerly on the end, tucking his feet up underneath himself. He used the wall as a backrest and stared at Harry, perhaps encouraging him to talk about the nightmare he couldn’t remember.

“Snape told me about legilimency earlier in the year,” Harry said instead, breaking the silence. “He was supposed to be teaching me how to stop the visions.”  
“Supposed to?”  
“He stopped.”   
“Obviously. Why?”  
“I - I got angry at him, and I shielded when he cast, and I ended up in his head,” Harry admitted. Draco snorted.  
“No wonder he hates you.”  
“He hated me long before that.”  
“True. You must have caught him off-guard, to get in there like that. Either that or you’re naturally good at occlumency. Of course, I wouldn’t put it past the Golden Boy to be amazing at everything he tries,” Draco said bitterly.  
Harry glared at him. “Hey, I’m not gifted, or - or - anything _stupid_ like that, okay?”   
“Sorry, Mister-Patronus-Charm-At-Fifteen. Occlumency should be a walk in the park compared to that.” 

Harry glared at Draco in the moonlight, but the effect was evidently lost on Draco. He was staring at his toes, flexing them over and over again as he mulled something over in his brain.

“When you had your little attack, in the study, you spoke like you saw what was happening through his eyes.”   
“Because I can.”   
“And you could feel everything he felt?”   
“Yes.”  
“So, in a way, it’s like… you were sucked into his head,” Draco said, tilting his head as he tried to voice his thoughts. “Like you’re part of him, or he’s part of you, and the legilimency is binding you together. So, the real question is, can he see through your eyes too?”

Harry grimaced as he debated his biggest fear. Did Voldemort know when Harry entered his mind? Was it possible that Voldemort could see through Harry whenever he pleased? Was he now a liability?

“When you’re in his head, you disappear,” Draco continued, speaking as if this were a philosophical question rather than Harry’s life. “Your wand displayed accidental magic. Whether that was you, or You-Know-Who attempting to perform magic through you, well…”  
“Are you saying I’m being possessed?” Harry demanded loudly, straightening upright. Draco shushed him. “Is that a bloody joke?”   
“I’m not saying you’re being possessed,” Draco said, rolling his eyes. “I’m wondering if that’s what he’s trying to do.”

He said it as if it was nothing, like it didn’t make Harry’s heart stop in his chest in fear. As if he didn’t already feel crazy enough, scared enough, vulnerable enough.

“Relax, it’s just a theory,” Draco shrugged. Harry almost threw something at him. “If it’s never happened before, the occlumency must have been helping, right?”  
“I don’t know,” Harry grumbled. “I could never get the hang of it.”  
“Mother says you’re doing well, so that’s something, innit?”

Harry didn’t appreciate the condescending tone or the theory that Draco offered, and resolved to throw it aside as rubbish. But the idea that Voldemort was trying to take over Harry - like he’d possessed Ginny in his second year, or worse - scared him.

“If he’s trying to possess me, it’s working,” Harry admitted, holding his head in his hands. The ensuing silence gave Harry the confidence he needed to continue. “I already feel like… like I _become_ him. Whatever he feels just _consumes_ me, sometimes. And… that’s when I’m not even seeing stuff.”  
After a beat of silence, Harry looked at Draco, who avoided his gaze, instead saying, “It’s weird.”  
“You’re not very good at the whole comforting thing, are you?”   
“What do you want me to do, sing you a lullaby?”   
“Would be better than you telling me I’m bloody _possessed_ -”  
“Well at least I’m here, aren’t I?”  
“A blast-ended skrewt would be more useful,” Harry grunted, but he said it with no malice.

Yes, at least he was here. It beat being alone in the dark with a creaky house. They sat in silence until Harry drifted off into an uneasy sleep, waking with a sore neck in the morning. Draco had returned to his room without waking him; when Harry walked past his door on his way to breakfast, it was shut.

But, determined to talk to anybody who wasn’t a Black or a Malfoy about his visions, Harry went over to Ron’s to rant. In the safety of the bright, warm attic bedroom, though, Harry didn’t want to dampen the space with his fears, and instead began whinging about other things. Lucius, who stole the last crepe every morning even though Kreacher didn’t make them for him, and Draco, who had been very nice and accommodating during his nightmares but the usual prat during the day, and even Narcissa, who let Harry see superficial thoughts and memories of hers during their sessions, as if she was rubbing in how fortunate she’d been and how rich they were. Ron would snort good-naturedly with every complaint, but Harry knew he didn’t really understand.

“We’re gonna be using this place as headquarters,” Ron told him during a lull in their conversation.  
“Headquarters?” Harry repeated. “Oh, for the Order?”

He had forgotten that Sirius withdrew Grimmauld Place from Dumbledore’s protection.

“Yeah,” Ron said, a bit glumly. “Now that Fred and George have moved out, and Percy’s probably gone for good, it’s just me and Gin so there’s plenty of room for people to stay if they need to. I’ll have to come get you when the Fidelius is up. Dumbledore’s putting it up sometime this week.”  
“Great,” Harry said. He frowned, looking closely at his best mate. “You alright, Ron?”   
“Yeah,” Ron sighed, leaning back on the bed. “Things just feel a bit different, you know?”

Harry wasn’t sure he did know, but he nodded all the same. Something was off with Ron, but if he didn’t want to discuss it, Harry wasn’t going to force him.

“You can come stay at mine, if you need to,” Harry offered, knowing before Ron screwed up his nose that the answer would be no. It was a shame, as Harry dreamed of having his friends over for the summer holidays, but just as quickly that dream was snatched away by the Malfoy’s.  
“Nah. I think - I dunno. We’ll see.”

Later that week Ron sent Harry a letter clearly written by Mrs Weasley containing nothing but their address on it. Quickly, Harry stuck his head through the floo just to make sure it was working.

“Harry! Our results are back!” Ron shouted to him, waving a letter madly. “What’d you get?”  
A bolt of excitement ran down Harry’s spine. “I haven’t got mine yet!” Harry cried. “Hang on - I’ll go check!”

He pulled his head out of the fire and dashed into his bedroom to see if Hedwig was there. She was sitting on her perch, her head tucked under her wing, with no letter in sight. Harry frowned and hurried down to the kitchen instead. On the table sat two letters.

“I thought about opening it and replacing it with a score card of T’s,” Sirius said, putting down the steaming cup of purple liquid he favoured. He looked at ease at the table, his feet up on another seat and a book in his lap.  
“Are they my O.W.L results?” Harry asked, barely able to keep himself from stepping forward and snatching his off the table. It shone at him like the golden snitch in a quidditch game.  
“Draco’s too,” Sirius confirmed.   
“Shall I open it?”  
“Well, it’s not gonna open itself, is it?” 

Grinning, Harry sat beside Sirius and opened his letter, skimming through the courtesies until he reached his grades. Sirius whistled.

“Not bad,” he praised, ruffling Harry’s hair. “What about you, Drakey?”

Draco had slipped into the kitchen whilst Harry was reading his letter, too absorbed in it to notice his footsteps. Looking bored, Draco ripped open his letter, his lips moving slightly as he read it to himself.

“Not bad,” he said simply, folding it back up.  
“The letters are here! _Lucius!_ Let me see, dragon, hand it over!” Narcissa cried, appearing in the kitchen like a tornado and snatching the letter out of her son’s hands. Grinning, she pulled him into a tight squeeze, peppering his cheek with kisses.  
“Gerroff,” Draco grunted, pushing his mother away.  
“Well, let’s see then,” Sirius said, offering Harry’s letter up for a trade.   
“Hey!”

Despite Harry’s shout of reluctance, Narcissa and Sirius swapped letters. Draco peered over to look at Harry’s card.

“Oof. Not exactly a clean sweep, Potter,” Draco smirked. “7 O.W.Ls. though.”  
“You shouldn’t have taken Divination.” Narcissa clucked her tongue mockingly. “Oh, Lucius, look at Draco’s results!”  
Harry jumped as Lucius appeared at Sirius’ side, using his height to his advantage as he read his son’s results. “Very good, Draco,” he said smoothly, smiling. “Nothing less than what I would expect.”

Frowning, Harry looked at Draco’s results.

 _Ancient Runes: O  
_ _Arithmancy: O_ _  
_ _Astronomy: O  
_ _Charms: E  
_ _Defence Against the Dark Arts: E  
_ _History of Magic: A  
_ _Herbology: A  
_ _Potions: O  
_ _Transfiguration: O_

“Probably would have done better in History if Potter hadn’t fainted and caused a ruckus,” Draco said, handing Harry back his letter. Harry compared Draco’s to his own: 

_Astronomy: A_ _  
_ _Care of Magical Creatures: E  
_ _Charms: E_ _  
_ _Defence Against the Dark Arts: O  
_ _Divination: P_ _  
_ _History of Magic: D_ _  
_ _Potions: E  
_ _Transfiguration: E_

All in all, Harry felt he hadn’t done too badly. Divination was always going to be a lost cause, and yes, he had fainted in History of Magic… 

“I can’t be an auror,” Harry said quietly to Sirius.  
“Hm?”  
“Why would you want to be an auror, anyway?” Lucius snorted. “Rubbish career, high mortality rates, surrounded by incompetent fools…”  
“As opposed to being a Death Eater?” Harry said irritably.  
Lucius looked coldly down at Harry. “You don’t get paid for being a Death Eater,” he snapped. “I have my own consultancy business, thank you very much, and I sit on the Board of Governors for Hogwarts -”  
“So you lounge around giving people your opinion all day, Lulu?” Sirius drawled. “Sounds dreadfully boring.”  
“Well, I daresay to someone like you, having any kind of ambition would sound boring.”  
“Stop it, you two,” Narcissa said, her hand on Draco’s shoulder. “This is a cause for celebration! We can discuss the best career paths later. For now, let’s just have a nice meal.”

Kreacher made them a three-course celebratory luncheon that was enjoyed and not thrown around. Sirius opened a bottle of sparkling elf wine that was poured into giant goblets for them all to share - Harry couldn’t be sure, but he felt like the wine went a lot further than the ones Aunt Petunia used to treat herself with.

As they sipped and ate, Harry decided this was one of the more cheerful meals he had enjoyed at Grimmauld Place, as they all discussed what they had dreamed of doing after Hogwarts, laughing and teasing each other. 

“Troll tamer, Drakey?” Sirius mocked.  
“Until he learned how big and smelly they were,” Narcissa giggled.   
“Didn’t you want to be a dressmaker, Cissy?” Lucius smirked. She gasped, placing a hand on her chest dramatically.   
“A highly respectable profession! Much better than a professional quidditch player!”  
“You played quidditch?” Harry asked Sirius. He pushed his hair out of his eyes in a prissy fashion.  
“I was an excellent beater,” he bragged.   
“You weren’t even on the team!” Narcissa shrieked through her giggles.  
Sirius laughed and rolled his eyes. “What about you, Harry? What do you dream of?”  
“I don’t know,” Harry admitted. 

It's not like he'd sat down and thought about his dreams much beyond his career mentor sessions with McGonagall. He'd never had time to think that far ahead. It was more than likely he wasn't going to make it to an old, ripe age anyway.

“I guess quidditch would be fun.”   
“Fun,” Lucius snorted. “You don’t want fun, you want -”  
“Profitable,” Draco and Narcissa finished, rolling their eyes. Harry sniggered.  
“The Ministry of Magic is the easiest way to gain power,” Lucius said, looking disapprovingly at his family. “Knowledge. Connections. All within easy grasp.”  
“If you want to sit at a desk all day,” Sirius added. “Now, the Weasley’s had the right idea - dragon taming, curse breaking -”  
“And still not enough galleons to go around,” Lucius sneered. 

Kreacher took away their mains and replaced it with the final dish. Harry was just digging in when Sirius straightened in his seat.

“Someone just came through the floo,” he said, tilting his head like a dog cocking its ear. “I’ll go see who it is.”

Looking reluctantly at his plate, Sirius threw his napkin on the table and exited. Lucius began chatting about the pros and cons of wand-making.

“Of course, it is rumoured that the craft makes you go a bit loopy,” he said.  
“Explains Ollivander,” Draco said, and Harry couldn’t help but agree. “No one in their right mind wants to be in the forest all day looking at bloody twigs.”  
“That’s not true,” Narcissa scolded. “Wand making is an art, and where would you be without it? Still trying to make things levitate, I dare say.”  
“Yes, dear,” Lucius said. “Now, Potter, if you want my advice -”  
“He doesn’t,” Draco grumbled, which Lucius ignored.  
“The real question isn’t what you can do for the wizarding world. It’s what can you make the wizarding world do for you?”  
Harry scrunched his face in confusion. “What?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Draco rub his face with his hand. He then shot Harry a pitying look.

“I’m not surprised you don’t understand,” Lucius said arrogantly. Harry almost glared at him. “The best way to make a living is not to work at all. So, you make a passive income. Have you heard of it?”  
“In the muggle world, yeah,” Harry shrugged. He had indeed heard Uncle Vernon brag about his drill business and the passive income it made, despite him going in to work every day.  
“Not completely daft, are you?” Lucius grinned, shaking away Narcissa’s slap to his shoulder. “Draco, why don’t you explain?”  
“I’d rather not,” he grumbled. At his father’s ensuing silence, Draco sighed, speaking as though reciting from a script. “Passive income is the best way to earn a living so you can pursue other avenues of work to widen your influence.”  
“And the best passive income?” Lucius prompted.  
“Making your own business and having other people do the work.”  
“That sounds -” Harry began before cutting himself off. He was about to say _stupid_ but he realised it was actually quite clever. “Hard,” he admitted.  
“Well, nothing good in life ever comes easy,” Lucius said, pointing at Harry with his knife. “Now, only idiots follow their passion to the workforce. What you need to do is identify -”  
“Look who it is!”

Sirius waltzed into the kitchen with Ron on his heels, interrupting whatever Lucius had been about to say, much to his distaste. The Malfoy’s turned to see who was at the door before promptly turning their backs on Ron. Harry, on the other hand, jumped up to greet him.

“Ron! What are you doing here?” he greeted, unable to contain his grin. It was so nice having his friend drop by without having to organise it by owl weeks in advance.  
“You didn’t come back with your results,” Ron said quietly so the Malfoy’s wouldn’t hear. Unfortunately, Harry knew their hearing was damn-near impeccable. “Was getting worried.”

Draco cooed mockingly.

“Shut it, Malfoy,” Harry scolded. He turned to Ron. “Stay and eat, mate, there’s plenty. Sirius even opened some wine -”  
“I’m fine,” Ron said shortly, despite peering over at the feast on the table. “Can I speak to you outside?”  
“Sure,” Harry shrugged, ignoring more of Draco’s catcalls and leading the way upstairs. Once they’d make it up a level, Ron lingered in the stairwell, leaning against the bannister.  
“Getting cosy with the Malfoy’s?” he accused. Harry frowned at his tone.  
“Not particularly,” he said carefully.   
Ron snorted. “Sure looked like it,” he grumbled, staring at the ground. The tips of his ears were turning pink, which made Harry feel uneasy.  
“Ron -”  
“Hermione’s coming later today, I just received her owl.”  
“Ron -”  
“And Bill’s bringing Fleur over too. Mum’s going to make a big meal out of it to celebrate our results,” Ron said.   
“Are you mad at me?” Harry asked, nonplussed. He couldn’t imagine what he’d done wrong to earn this cold treatment from Ron, but there was clearly something up, and Harry was determined to get to the bottom of it.  
“You seem pretty happy with them here.”

Harry almost rolled his eyes but managed to hold himself back. 

“Is that what this is about?” Harry demanded. Ron shrugged. “Ron, come on -”  
“I’ve gotta go, anyway,” Ron said, pulling away. “I’ll let you know when Hermione’s here.”  
“Hey! Don’t leave -”

Ron didn’t look back, instead disappearing into the drawing room and vanishing through the floo. Harry let out a gust of breath, scoffing to himself. Ron was out of line, acting like Harry was doing something bad when he didn’t have a choice - didn’t Ron see he didn’t have a choice but to try and get along with the Malfoy’s? They lived under the same roof, for goodness sake!

Harry aimed a kick at the stair bannister and swore loudly. He hurt the arch of his foot in the process but revelled in the pain. It was just like Ron to do something like this, Harry thought bitterly. Just like in fourth year. Ron was susceptible to jealousy, and he was clearly unnerved by the Malfoy’s.

Fourth year was the worst year of Harry’s life at Hogwarts, though, without Ron by his side. Harry didn’t want to go through that again. He resolved to speak to Ron about it alone once he’d cooled down.

Harry made his way back downstairs and paused at the kitchen door. He looked at the Malfoy’s and Sirius smiling and laughing with each other. He could admit to himself he saw what Ron saw. A happy, albeit dysfunctional, makeshift family. One that didn’t include Ron. 

He shook the thought away. He wasn’t replacing Ron with Malfoy, for goodness sake. It was stupid. As if Malfoy could ever replace Ron? 

Taking his seat back at the table, Harry smiled at Sirius to ease his concerned look, and allowed Lucius to continue lecturing him on the best ways to make money (even if the taunts and insults were barely hidden). 

After, Harry found himself heading back upstairs to the drawing room and staring at the fireplace Ron had disappeared through. He sat on the floor, picking at the threads of the carpet that desperately needed to be replaced. Idly, he considered waltzing into the Burrow uninvited and confronting Ron about his insecurities before it evolved into something worse, but something held him back. Harry didn’t feel the need to apologise right now. He hadn’t done anything wrong!

A slight knock of the door frame made Harry jump.

“Father wants me to give you this,” Draco said, tossing a small book at Harry’s head without waiting for a response. Luckily Harry caught it before it hit him on the nose. He looked at the green cover briefly.  
“ _A dummies guide to building a business_ ?” Harry read. He screwed up his nose.   
“It’s actually… quite useful,” Draco admitted.  
“Thanks, I guess.”

Harry put the book beside him on the ground and returned to staring at the coals of the fire. He had no intention of reading any book Lucius Malfoy gave him, knowing all too well what happened the last time Lucius handed over a book, but he would take it just to pretend. 

“What did Weasel want?”  
“None of your business,” Harry snapped.  
“Ooh, someone’s grumpy,” Draco jeered. “Trouble in paradise?”

Harry sighed, frustrated. How could Ron ever think he’d be replaced with a prick like Malfoy?

“He comes over in the middle of the day uninvited, and leaves just as quickly? Something must be going on,” Draco taunted, taking a seat on the couch behind Harry. His feet were near Harry’s head, which he didn’t like. He scooted closer to the fireplace.  
“Sod off, Malfoy, it’s none of your business.”  
“Then why are you hiding in here, staring at the fire like a lost puppy?”  
“I’m not!” Harry said hotly. 

He squeezed his eyes closed and resolved to ignore Malfoy, knowing it was better than engaging with him, but it seemed Draco was having too much fun to give up quite so easily.

“Let me guess! Weasley’s upset that you got more O.W.Ls than him,” Draco guessed. Harry ignored him. “No? Well, maybe he’s upset that he only got A’s. No? Oh, I know, he’s angry that I knew your scores before him, right? He did say that you didn’t go back with your results.”  
“No,” Harry said.   
“You’re a shit liar, Potter.”

For whatever reason, Draco stopped pushing and waited for Harry to speak. Harry sighed, picking at the threads in the carpet more urgently.

“I don’t know what his problem is, and I don’t know why you care so much,” Harry said pointedly, looking over his shoulder to glare at Draco. He was spread out of the couch with his legs up, arms behind his head, looking like the picture of ease. Harry wanted to kick him.  
“I _don’t_ care,” Draco said nonchalantly. “You just make it so easy to pick on you, I can’t resist.”  
“Gee, that’s nice,” Harry said sarcastically. “Go pick on someone else.”  
“In case you haven’t noticed, there is no one else,” Draco said. “It’s literally just you.”

Wasn’t Harry blessed?

The room lit up in green as the floo activated and Hermione stumbled through, squealing as her gaze landed on Harry. She fell to her knees and embraced him in a tight hug, engulfing Harry in her hair. She smelled strongly of vanilla, and she seemed… different, somehow. Taller, or more tanned, maybe. The floo lit up again and Ron stepped through, looking glum.

“Oh, Harry, it’s so good to see you!” Hermione greeted, rocking Harry to the side a few times before letting him go and clapping her hands. “Did you get your O.W.L results? Can I see them?”  
“Uh - sure,” Harry said. “Hey, Ron.”  
“Hey,” Ron greeted, eyes on the carpet.  
“Hello, Weasel,” Draco simpered, smiling sweetly. “So good to see you.”  
“Sod off, Malfoy.”  
“Oh, no thank you,” Draco said, waving his hand faintly. “You see, I live here now, and I can go where I please.”  
“Malfoy, stop it,” Harry said firmly. Draco raised his brows at him. “Can you leave us alone?”  
“But we were having such a nice chat,” Draco said innocently. “Won’t you let me stay? Pretty please?”   
“He said piss off, Malfoy,” Ron said angrily. Draco clucked his tongue.   
“Such bad manners!”  
“Come on, let’s just go to my room,” Harry said, giving Draco a dirty look. When Draco took to stand, Harry shoved him back down on the couch using a technique Dudley used to use on him. “You’re _not_ invited. Understand?”  
Draco glared at Harry. “Oh, Granger?” he called. “I’ve got Potter’s results in my pocket, if you wanted to see them?”  
“How did you get those?” Hermione asked, with no response except a mischievous smile from Draco.

Ron tried to say a few things several times over as Draco dug out Harry’s results. He’d crumpled the paper, not that Harry cared, but Hermione snatched the paper from Draco and began smoothing it out, using the green business book Harry had left on the floor. Harry led Ron and Hermione to his room, liking that Hermione smiled as she handed over his results and the book. He smiled back.

“You should be proud, Harry, you did well,” she praised.

He almost put his finger on what was different about Hermione when they reached his room.

“Woah,” Ron said as he entered. Harry grinned.  
“It’s nice, right?” he asked.   
“It’s all very lovely, Harry,” Hermione agreed. “Did Sirius get you some things?”  
“It’s from Mrs Malfoy,” Harry said. 

He immediately wished he’d taken the lie Hermione offered. Ron clamped his mouth shut unhappily, choosing to lean against the desk rather than sit on the bed as he had been about to do. Hermione had no such qualms and took her shoes off, curling her lean legs underneath her as she made herself comfy at the foot of the bed.

“How was your summer, ‘Mione?” Harry asked after a few beats of silence. She shrugged.  
“France was very nice,” she said. “But I’m more interested in yours. What happened? What’s been happening? Ron won’t say.”

Harry shrugged and explained how the Malfoy’s came to Sirius asking for help after they defected. Hermione listened carefully, nodding along, waiting until Harry finished before she asked a question neither Ron or Harry had thought about.

“How long are they staying for?”  
“I dunno,” Harry shrugged. “Until they get their own place, I guess.”  
Hermione pursed her lips, looking between Ron and Harry carefully. “What if that takes a long time?”  
“It’s up to Sirius, I guess,” Harry said unsurely.   
“We’ll be at Hogwarts, anyway,” Ron said in what was meant to be a comforting tone. 

Hermione looked at Harry quickly before furtively looking away. Unfortunately, Harry knew what she was trying to say. 

He hadn’t thought about what the Malfoy’s would do whilst they were at Hogwarts. He had assumed it would only be a temporary arrangement, but Hermione seemed to think it would be more long-term; certainly, Harry saw no reason for them to leave if Grimmauld Place offered the best protection on offer already. Why would they risk moving?

But, like Hermione, Harry didn’t mention it. It was for the best.

“Tell Harry the news, Ron,” Hermione suggested. Ron groaned.  
“Bill’s engaged,” he said. “To Fleur Delacour.”   
Harry sniggered. “The French girl you have a giant crush on?”  
Ron turned red. “I do not!” Ron said hotly. “The whole family hates her. Ginny’s never disliked anyone more.”  
“I can’t imagine Mrs Weasley hating anybody,” Harry said honestly.   
“You’d be surprised,” Ron said darkly. “Even Hermione doesn’t like her.”  
“Hermione!”  
“Well - oh, come _on,_ Harry! She talks to Ginny like she’s a baby!” Hermione cried defensively.  
“She’s staying with us until the school term, I think,” Ron told Harry. “So we’ve got Fleur -”  
“Phlegm,” Hermione corrected darkly.  
“ _Fleur_ at mine and Malfoy at yours,” Ron said, pointedly ignoring Hermione and Harry’s giggles. “Thank Merlin this summer is nearly over.”  
“It’s my birthday soon,” Harry realised. “Blimey, I almost forgot.”  
“Yeah. Mum was wondering if you’d be over at ours for it?” Ron asked casually, looking at his nails like the answer didn’t matter too much. Hermione looked at Harry and nodded almost imperceptibly.   
“I don’t see why not,” Harry said, noting the pleased look on Ron’s face. “I can bring Sirius, can’t I?”

Ron hurriedly agreed and the three settled into talking of darker topics, Ron eventually sinking into the desk chair instead of leaning on the desk. The newspaper had been detailing more disappearances and Hermione spoke of the increased security in the airports, meaning that the muggles knew something was happening too. Ron mentioned that the ministry was going through some changes.

“Dad’s been talking about a shuffle,” Ron said quietly. “Couple new teams here, a new department there. Fudge barely has control over the people.”  
“Do people still think I’m lying?” Harry asked. “About his return?”  
“More or less, but I think people are getting suspicious now,” Ron admitted. “More higher-level disappearances without a trace. Aurors are stumped. It’s the only logical explanation, innit?”  
“Do you two ever wonder…” Hermione began, pausing for just a brief moment to check the doorway. Empty, but Hermione clearly didn’t trust it. “I mean, you mentioned it in your letter, Harry. Do you ever think about what happened to us? Who we saw?”  
“All the time,” Harry admitted, whilst Ron only shrugged.  
“I wonder how different it is,” Hermione mused, locking eyes with Harry. 

She was looking at him earnestly; Harry couldn’t help but stare back, feeling rewarded that Hermione understood him in a way that Ron didn’t. He lost himself in memories of seeing himself leaning heavily on Hermione, covered in muck and dirt and blood and stinking to high heaven. How thin and gaunt he was - so much worse than he’d ever been after a summer at the Dursley’s. 

“At least we know if we bugger up we can try again,” Ron said after a moment.  
“No we can’t,” Hermione immediately argued.  
“Yes, we can!”  
“That’s not how time works, Ron.”  
“You don’t know that -”  
“Out of everyone in this room, I’m the one with the most experience with it! I think I would know!”

A knock on the door interrupted their bickering, much to Harry’s relief. “Joining us for dinner, you lot?” Sirius asked, looking amused. 

“Sorry, mum’s expecting us,” Ron said. Harry wondered only briefly if it was a lie.  
“Too bad,” Sirius shrugged. He turned away, calling over his shoulder, “Thirty minutes, Jamesy-boy!”  
“We should be heading home, anyway,” Ron said apologetically. “Didn’t realise it had gotten so late. Mum’s gonna chew my head off for leaving her with Fleur.”  
“Right,” Harry laughed. “See you on my birthday, then?”  
“Wouldn’t miss it. It’ll be a big family affair!”

Harry led them to the drawing room, hoping that Draco had left already. Unfortunately, he remained on the sofa with an arm thrown over his eyes, looking like he’d fallen asleep.

“Ugh,” Ron sneered. He threw in a handful of floo powder. “See you, Harry.”  
“Bye Ron.”

Harry turned to Hermione expectantly. She had lingered behind, a look on her face that Harry knew meant she wanted to say something. She cast a careful glance over at Draco.

“What?”  
“You’re being careful, aren’t you, Harry?” she asked earnestly. Harry nodded, embracing her in a comforting hug. She was all soft curves now, even though her legs had muscled up a bit, she still fit nicely in his arms. Harry was assaulted by another wave of vanilla shampoo. “Ron’s been - well, he seemed a bit upset.”  
“About?”

Hermione pulled away slightly, looking towards Draco on the couch meaningfully. Harry sighed.

“Not much I can do about it, though, is there?” he murmured. Hermione pursed her lips, plump and pink and shining.  
“We can’t have another fourth year,” she said eventually. “Promise me. Promise you’ll fix it.”  
“I haven’t done anything wrong!”   
“Come on, Harry, you know what he’s like,” Hermione whispered, looking furtively at Draco. Harry inwardly groaned. He did know. He nodded his defeat, making Hermione smile. “You look nice, by the way. The clothes. They suit you.”  
Harry grinned bashfully. “Thanks, Hermione.”

Hermione kissed Harry on the cheek, leaving his face feeling warm, and let herself through the floo.

“Well, that was almost sweet, wasn’t it?”   
Harry contemplated banging his head on the mantle. “Nobody asked you for your opinion.”  
“Nobody ever does, and yet here it is anyway,” Draco drawled. 

Harry rolled his eyes and exited the drawing room, Draco on his heels.


	10. Chapter 10

Sirius and Harry stepped through the floo at the Burrow and were greeted with loud music and voices. There were balloons and streamers everywhere, and a few pixie lights glowing in pink and green that they followed out to the garden. A long table was set up with several plates of food on them, and a giant birthday cake there for Harry with candles on it.

“Happy birthday, Harry!” Ron, Hermione and Ginny cried, running up to steal him away from Sirius, who instead went to sit with Remus and Bill, slapping them on the shoulders in greeting.   
“We got you something!” Ron declared, pulling him away from the food and handing him a badly wrapped gift, small enough to fit in the palm of his hand.  
“Thanks,” Harry said. Ron seemed eager for him to open it, so Harry ripped it open, letting the wrapping paper fall to the ground. He lifted the lid of the box and  _ bang!  _ His vision was blocked by a puff of smoke as confetti sprayed all over him.  
“Thanks,” Harry said more dryly this time, making Ron laugh. 

Hermione and Ginny dashed forward to help him shake off the glittering paper, which was caught in his hair and over his glasses. They couldn’t hide their grins, Hermione smiling particularly bright at him. She was dressed in a denim skirt, showing off tanned legs that Harry had to remind himself not to look at. 

“Oh no, here comes Phlegm,” Ginny moaned, pulling Hermione away unapologetically. Harry watched them go until they disappeared near the table, leaving Harry with Ron, who lit up at Fleur’s presence.  
“‘Arry, it is good to see you,” Fleur greeted, swooping down to kiss him twice on both cheeks.   
“Fleur,” Harry greeted. “Congratulations on the engagement.”   
“Oh, you told him?” Fleur asked Ron, cupping his cheek in her hand briefly. “ _ Oui.  _ Bill and I are very happy. We are starting to plan the wedding, we think sometime next year would be nice...”

Harry could see Ron looking a little woozy from her touch and he tried to choke back his laughter. For the good of his friend, Harry figured it was best to get him away from Fleur’s heady effects.

“Where - where is Bill, anyway? I should go say hi,” Harry said. Fleur pointed to the table and Harry followed her point, dragging Ron away.  
“You’d think you’d be less stunned by her if she’s been staying here,” Harry scolded.   
Ron shook his head wondrously. “You’d think so, but no.”

At the table Mr Weasley, Bill, Sirius, Remus and Tonks were seated with their heads tucked together tightly. When Harry caught Mr Weasley’s eye and waved, they sat up and tried to look nonchalant.

“What’s going on?” Harry asked. It was Sirius who didn’t hesitate to answer.   
“Your birthday’s been overshadowed by some bad news, Harry,” Sirius said, tilting his head towards the  _ Daily Prophet  _ that sat on the table. Harry quickly looked over it.   
“Madam Bones? Dead?” Harry read. Ron hissed through his teeth.   
“That’s Susan’s aunt, from Hufflepuff,” he murmured.   
“She was at my hearing last year,” Harry said dumbly. She was a nice enough woman, if a bit intimidating, he thought.  
“Killed in a room locked from the inside,” Remus said, looking worn and tired as usual, but freshly shaven. “Muggles reported it in their paper too.”   
“A fun little mystery for them,” Sirius added.   
“There’s nothing fun about it, Sirius,” Mr Weasley scolded. “The Dark Mark was over her apartment, the Ministry had to send out a whole team of Obliviators to erase that fact from their paper.”  
“The Dark Mark?” Harry repeated. “What, Voldemort killed her?”

A few adults winced, but Harry ignored them.

“It’s likely, yes, or the Death Eaters,” Remus said after a moment. “She was a formidable witch with lots of power. If she was being recruited, it would explain why she tried to hide.”   
“That’s not all, Jamesy-boy,” Sirius said. “Fudge is being replaced.”   
“Good,” Harry snorted. Sirius tried to hide his grin with little luck. “By who?”   
“Rufus Scrimegeour, Head of the Auror Office,” Tonks said. “He’s a tough nut to crack. It’s being announced in the papers tomorrow.”  
“Blimey,” Ron breathed.   
“Does he believe Voldemort’s back?” Harry demanded.   
“Not openly,” Tonks admitted. “But he’ll likely prepare for the worst. Any auror would.”   
“Don’t lie to him, Tonks,” Sirius said. “He’s a politician now. They can’t be trusted to do anything that doesn’t protect their interests.”  
“And revealing the truth about You-Know-Who doesn’t help the Ministry,” Bill added. “Makes them look like a failure.”   
“They are!”  
“They need people to believe in them, Harry,” Mr Weasley said. “If people think they can’t do their job, then it’ll be just like before.”

Harry shook his head. How could they sit there and say that and not understand that Voldemort was getting stronger every day, and Harry was still seen as the class clown? As a fool? A trouble-maker, an attention-seeker, someone who was off their rocker?

“It already is like before,” Sirius drawled, and Harry’s heart lifted a bit. Sirius was always in his corner. “We need him out in the open so we can actively recruit to the cause.”  
“I don’t think this is the best place to discuss it,” Mr Weasley said, casting a worried look towards his wife.

They eventually settled at the table and ate the delicious food cooked by Mrs Weasley, albeit with a dull atmosphere. Fred and George talked loudly about the success of their store so far, ignoring Mrs Weasley’s disapproving looks, and Fleur talked just as loudly about her Gringotts work to Bill, who patiently corrected her English and translated for her as well. Occasionally, Ginny would kick his leg under the table and nod at Ron, who was captivated by Fleur’s hair tosses. They would snigger into their plates, Hermione catching on and pretending to vomit into her food.

“The Hogwarts letters should be arriving any day now,” Mrs Weasley said fretfully, cutting off whatever Fleur was saying. “Are you lot listening down there?”  
“Yes,” Ginny called back, stifling her giggles.   
“Good. I think we should all go to Diagon Alley together next weekend,” Mrs Weasley said, looking at them all sternly, daring them to argue. “Safety in numbers, after all.”   
“Really, Molly, that’s not necessary,” Sirius attempted, casting a look at Harry that he failed to interpret. “Harry and I are more than capable -”  
“Harry is in the most danger, Sirius!” Mrs Weasley all but shrieked at him. Sirius took a deep, calming breath. “We’re doing this for him!”  
“He doesn’t need a dozen people surrounding him everywhere he goes, you’ll just draw attention to him -”  
“It’s not  _ attention,  _ it’s  _ protection!”  
_ “I am more than capable of protecting my own son,” Sirius barked. Mrs Weasley scoffed.  
“He’s as good as my son too!”   
“Difference is, I’ve got the paperwork to prove it.”   
“Paperwork doesn’t change anything!”

Harry swapped concerned looks with Hermione and Ron. They were sitting in an awkward silence as Sirius and Mrs Weasley went for each other’s throats. Most concerning for Harry, though, was Sirius hadn’t told him that his claim for lordship and his legal guardian was approved. Why keep it a secret? Was he embarrassed? They jumped when Sirius slammed his hands on the table.

“Harry is legally my responsibility, and the power of my lordship is equal to if not above the powers the aurors have. Unless the real problem here is that you don’t think I’m capable of protecting him?”

Mrs Weasley simply stared at Sirius. 

“That’s low, Molly,” Sirius said in a deathly quiet voice.   
“Perhaps we should discuss this later,” Mr Weasley said awkwardly.

Harry frowned at his plate. It usually warmed his heart to hear Mrs Weasley speak of him as part of her family, but now it just irritated him. Why was she acting like Sirius had never gone above and beyond for Harry? He had never hesitated to risk his life if it meant answering Harry’s call. And, even more importantly, why was she implying that Harry couldn’t look after himself either? 

In the tense silence, Harry caught Sirius’ eye. The grey was blazing furiously, and Harry suddenly had a dirty thought. A thought that he immediately wished he’d never had.

Narcissa would never cause such a fuss.

Harry wanted to vomit. He wasn’t replacing the Weasley’s with the Malfoy’s. He wasn’t replacing Ron with Draco. He thought it over and over like a mantra, forcing himself to remember and to believe it.

“Harry and I have our own plans, anyway,” Sirius said, looking at Harry intensely. “Right, Harry?”  
“Uh, yeah,” Harry said, trying and failing once again to interpret the look Sirius was giving him.   
“It’s going to be a nice family outing,” Sirius said slowly, not breaking eye contact. 

Suddenly, Harry caught on. He tried to hide his grimace.

He’d much rather go to Diagon with the Weasley’s than the bloody Malfoy’s, even after Mrs Weasley’s rude remarks to Sirius. But Sirius clearly felt otherwise. Had he already organised the trip with Narcissa? Maybe he just wanted to go with Harry, and he was misinterpreting Sirius’ looks…

Harry sighed. No matter who he went with, Harry knew that if Sirius wasn’t there, he wouldn’t be happy. There was no way he was missing his first trip to Diagon Alley with Sirius. His first trip with his own, real family. Wherever Sirius went, Harry would follow.

“Yep,” Harry choked out. “Sirius and I. Family time.”  
“You’ve always come with us, dear, adding Sirius to the group won’t make much of a difference,” Mrs Weasley said firmly. “It’s for the best.”  
“Only Harry has the right to decide what is best for him,” Sirius said.  
“Stop it, Sirius, he’s only sixteen, for goodness sake!”  
“They’ve made up their minds, Molly, leave them be,” Mr Weasley said quietly. He received an outraged look from his wife for it, but he just shook his head firmly and placed his hand over hers. 

The ensuing silence was thick and awkward to say the least. Harry looked at Ron from his peripherals; Ron looked confused and a little mad, digging into the food on his plate. Harry sighed. He’d upset Ron even more without even trying.

“Thanks anyway. Maybe we can meet somewhere for lunch or something?” Harry suggested. Mrs Weasley didn’t answer, and Ron didn’t look up from his plate.  
“Personally, I think it’s great that Harry has his own family to go with,” Ginny said with a smile.   
“Be quiet, Ginny,” Mrs Weasley snapped.   
“I think it’s great as well, Gin,” Hermione said, leaning over to grab the potatoes in front of Ron. The skirt she wore slid up a little at the back as she stretched over the table. Harry tried to look away politely, but found himself glancing back. “I would love to take my parents to Diagon again, but they find it quite overwhelming and it was hard enough bringing them back from France -”  
“ _ Oui,  _ France is quite charming,” Fleur said, “Where did you vacation, ‘Ermione?”

A reluctant Hermione was dragged into conversation with Fleur and as they spoke, everyone else broke into their own conversations. Sirius stabbed at his plate as Remus and Tonks chatted quietly. Harry, Ron and Ginny laughed at Hermione trying to play nice with Fleur. After dinner, Hermione huffed at all of them for leaving her to deal with Phlegm all by herself, but Harry could barely get the image of her ass out of his head, let alone apologise to her.

“Sorry about Mum,” Ginny said when they sat in the lounge, away from the adults. “She’s been going a bit weird ever since Dumbledore put the Fidelius on the house.”

Crookshanks rubbed himself on Harry’s legs, twisting around them before jumping on his lap and purring loudly. 

“She’s acting like I can’t look after myself,” Harry frowned, patting the cat a little too roughly. “And like Sirius can’t look after me either!”  
“She’s just worried, mate,” Ron said. “It wouldn’t be a problem if you just came with us. Then we’d get the Ministry cars and probably a whole squad of aurors -”  
“Ron,” Hermione admonished softly. Ron frowned.   
“What? There’s no need to complicate it, Harry comes with us every year.”   
“You know why he can’t come,” Hermione said quietly. Ron squished up his face in disgust.  
“You’re joking, right?” Ron said, turning to face Harry. “You’re ditching us to go with them?”  
“Them?” Ginny echoed. Harry pretended to not hear her.  
“I’m not ditching you,” he said instead. “Sirius wants to go separately, what’s wrong with that?”  
“Does Sirius want to go, or is it you?” Ron demanded.

Harry glared at Ron, ready to confront him about his jealousy at last - even if it wasn’t the best timing - when a loud commotion from outside made Harry jump up from his seat. 

“DON’T BOTHER!” Sirius yelled, slamming the door after him. He came stomping through the lounge to the floo, pausing at the sight of the four of them. “Oh. It’s you lot.”   
“What’s going on?” Harry asked. Sirius shook his head.   
“Just disagreeing with Molly about my parenting abilities,” Sirius said, taking more deep breaths to calm himself down. “I’m heading home. See you later.”  
“Sirius, wait -” Harry began, but when Sirius paused, he didn’t know what to say. He shrugged to buy himself some time. “I’ll be home soon, yeah?”   
Sirius smiled. “Yeah. Take your time.”

He disappeared through the floo. Harry looked at Hermione and Ginny, who looked concerned, then at Ron, who looked confused.

“We should find out what happened,” he said eventually.

He led the way outside where it looked like a bull had trampled over the table. Mrs Weasley was arguing with her husband, Fleur was wrapped up in Bill’s arms, Fred and George were wiping food off their clothing, and Remus and Tonks looked torn.

“Blimey,” Ron said. Mrs Weasley looked up, her lips settling into a thin line. Then, without saying anything, she stormed off into the house.  
“Sorry about that, Harry,” Mr Weasley said tiredly, taking off his glasses and cleaning them with his shirt. “Molly’s a bit stressed, she didn’t mean anything by it.”  
“It sounded like she did,” Harry said. 

He didn’t mean to make it sound aggressive, but he wasn’t willing to let her behaviour slide, either. After all, that was his godfather she spent all dinner insulting. 

“Hm,” Mr Weasley said. “She loves you like her own son. She gets protective of you. Whatever she feels towards Sirius - she shouldn’t have said what she did. But please know it comes from a good place in her heart.”

Harry deflated and nodded at Mr Weasley, who smiled a bit. He began to clean up the dinner with a wave of his wand; Bill and Fleur immediately helped, Fleur using her wand to leave a mist of air freshener behind, leaving the garden smelling like roses.

“I should go,” Harry said after watching her for a few moments, entranced. Hermione and Ginny had amused looks on their faces. “Sorry.”  
“We’ll tell Ron you said goodbye,” Ginny said pointedly, laughing when Ron snapped back to attention.  
“You’re leaving?” Harry nodded. “Going to your new family?” Ron asked rudely.

Harry scoffed. Ginny looked at him with wide eyes, glancing between them all curiously.

“Ron,” Hermione said softly. He shook her off.  
“Whatever,” he said. “See you at school.”

Ron turned on his heel and walked back to the house. Harry didn’t bother trying to call him back.

“What is going on with you guys?” Ginny asked, evidently lost.   
“I’ll explain later,” Harry lied. “I’ve got to find Sirius. I’ll owl you.”

Hermione and Ginny chorused their goodbyes, sounding quiet and sad, but Harry didn’t slow down as he walked to the floo. He passed no one on the way inside, assumed Ron had hidden in his bedroom, and resolved not to apologise first. It was Ron out of line, as per usual, he rationalised.

He took the floo back home and headed upstairs to find Sirius, but was unsuccessful. He wasn’t in his bedroom and he wasn’t in the attic where Buckbeak had resided up until a week ago, when Sirius returned him to Hagrid at Hogwarts. He headed downstairs and heard a slight rumble of voices; pausing on the first level, he saw Draco leaning against Narcissa and Lucius’ door with an Extendable Ear that may or may not have been nicked from Harry’s room. Draco caught his eye and lifted his finger to his lips. In any other situation Harry would yell at him, but his curiosity got the better of him. He crept over and joined him.

_ “She’s acting like Harry is hers! And what has she done? What has she done that I haven’t? I’ve done more than her - when did she risk her life for Harry? Huh?” _ _   
_ _ “I really wouldn’t know,” Narcissa drawled.  
_ _ “Exactly! I would risk my life over and over for that kid and I don’t need her acting like I haven’t done anything! She insulted me in front of her whole family!”  
_ _ “Her opinion means nothing,” Lucius said.  _ _ “It means something to Harry, she has practically raised him, he worships her!” _ _   
_ _ “Bad taste, really.” _ _   
_ _ “Shut up, Lulu, you set the bar for parenting so low it’s not even off the ground!”  
_ _ “Yet, Draco turned out just fine, as opposed to those red headed mongrels -”  
_ _ “You’re not helping, Lucius, stop it,” Narcissa scolded. “Sirius, for goodness sake, you caused a scene because she hurt your feelings? If we’d started something over every little comment people whispered about us -”  
_ _ “Well Molly didn’t whisper this, did she?” Sirius cried. “She shouted it over the bloody dinner table!”  
_ _ “What else did you expect from a family like that?” _ _   
_ _ “AND! She’s acting like Harry’s just a kid and can’t make his own choices!” _ _   
_ _ “He  _ is  _ just a child.” _ _   
_ _ “So was I, Nar.” _ _   
_ _ “Don’t make this personal, Sirius. If you are going to be Harry’s guardian, you need to set an example for him. You need to be responsible.”  
_ _ “Big ask, Cissy.”  
_ _ “I am setting an example!” _ _   
_ _ “You stormed out of Harry’s birthday party,” Narcissa snapped. “Great example. The letters haven’t even arrived yet, for Circe’s sake!” _ _   
_ _ “I can organise some revenge, if you like. It would be very subtle.” _ _   
_ _ “Don’t joke, Lulu, right now I’m considering it.” _ _   
_ _ “Careful what you wish for, Sirius, they’re listening at the door.” _

“Shit,” Draco swore, tugging the ear out from under the door. “Shit. Go, go, go!”

Harry dashed back up the stairs, sacrificing silence for speed, Draco hot on his heels. He ran down the landing and hid in his bedroom, jumping on the bed and aiming for a posture of nonchalance. He tucked his hands behind his head and slowed his breathing so that when Sirius came in with an amused look on his face, he was no longer puffing.

“Come here, Jamesy-boy,” Sirius said gruffly, sitting on the edge of the bed with his arm out. He draped it over Harry’s shoulders, using the other hand to rub his knuckles viciously over Harry’s head. “How long were you listening for?”  
“Long enough,” Harry admitted, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “Mrs Weasley was out of line -”  
“Stop,” Sirius said, holding up his hand. “I don’t want you talking smack about Molly. She looked after you when I wasn’t there and I’m grateful.”  
“She disrespected you in front of her whole family!”  
Sirius looked glum. “Yes, she did.”  
“And I won’t stand for it!” Harry said hotly. “You’ve always been there for me and you’ve done more for me than anyone else ever has! Of course I’m going to side with you!”  
“You’re just like your father,” Sirius said fondly. Harry snorted.  
“Can I ask you something?”  
“Mhm.”  
Harry hesitated. “Why didn’t you tell me you got your title?” he asked, unable to ask what was really on his mind - why didn’t Sirius tell him he had guardianship? Was he not proud?  
“It only came through this morning, I didn’t want to steal the attention from your birthday,” Sirius said. “Of course, that happened anyway… I’m sorry, Harry. I shouldn’t have caused such a scene on your big day. I just wanted to go to Diagon with you.” Sirius lifted his hands helplessly. “I just… wanted to take my son shopping for school supplies. I don’t know what came over me.”

Harry felt a goofy grin cross his face. Sirius looked around Harry’s room with little interest, jolting a little when he saw Harry grinning.

“What?”  
“Your son?” Harry repeated.   
“Well, yeah,” Sirius said, a light blush heating his cheeks. He stared at Hedwig determinedly. “Like I said, the paperwork came through today, so. I’m never going to replace James, I know that, but you’ve always been that to me. And having Nar and Draco here, it’s been feeling a lot like family lately. So yeah, you’re my son, and we’re a little family. Even if it’s dysfunctional.”

Harry could say nothing, his throat suddenly too thick and uncooperative. He placed Sirius’ arm over his shoulder and cuddled into his side.

“I’m not calling you Father like Malfoy,” Harry choked out. Sirius chuckled.   
“Would you consider Lord Black instead?”

Harry snorted and shook his head. They cuddled until Harry’s body cramped and he had to pull away. 

“I, uh, I had a bit of a row with Ron after you left,” Harry ventured awkwardly.

Harry didn’t know how to breach the subject, but he figured it was better to come out and say it than to beat around the bush. This was Sirius - Harry could say anything without being judged. Because if he couldn’t tell Sirius, who could he tell?

“About me?”   
“No. He thinks I’m replacing him with Malfoy.”  
“Are you?”   
“No.”  
“Then I don’t understand.”

Harry looked at his fingers, digging at some dirt under his fingernails. 

“Ron thinks that I’m spending more time with Malfoy than him by choice,” Harry explained, looking up at Sirius with a begging expression. “But that’s not true! He lives here, it’s not like I can avoid him.”   
“It would be incredibly rude,” Sirius agreed.   
“I’m only spending time with the Malfoy’s because I want to spend time with you and they’re here, but Ron doesn’t see that. All he sees is the new furniture and the new clothes and the amount of time I’m not spending with him.”  
“I bet what I said to Molly tonight didn’t help,” Sirius said knowingly. Harry grimaced and nodded. “I’m sorry, Harry.”   
“It’s not your fault.”   
“No, but it still had an effect,” Sirius hummed. “So, Ron is upset that he’s not your best friend anymore.”   
Harry blanched. “Of course Ron’s my best friend.”  
“He obviously doesn’t seem to think so.”

Harry frowned. How was he supposed to convince Ron of something that was so obvious?

“If the past has taught me anything, it’s that war brings out the worst in people.” Sirius sounded sad as he looked at the wall, lost in his thoughts. “Things you thought were so obvious and certain, suddenly… suddenly they aren’t.”

Sirius shook his head a little, giving Harry a smile that was more like a grimace.

“Remus and I were inseparable in school, just like you and Ron. We would have died for each other, no questions asked. But then the war happened, and things changed, and it wasn’t either of our faults but we’re not the same people anymore, and our friendship suffered for it.”   
“You seemed fine at dinner.”  
“Yeah, we’re working through it, but it’s not easy. People change and grow and evolve at different rates. Ron will catch up to you.”   
“When?” Harry whispered.

He didn’t mean for it to come out as weak as it sounded. But he was just so  _ tired _ \- he needed his best friend in his corner. He needed Ron’s support. The legilimency was exhausting and the house was so gloomy and his nightmares weren’t going away and he wasn’t sure how much time he had left before Voldemort figured out their connection -

Sirius fixed Harry with a worried look. “Harry,” he said quietly, reaching out to put his hand on Harry’s knee and squeezing softly. “Maybe never.”  
“Never?” Harry repeated, unable to fathom the idea.  
“Maybe. I know Arthur has issues with Lucius that defy logic. Maybe Ron does too.”

The idea of a life without Ron terrified Harry. Ron was his first, his best, and sometimes his only friend in the Wizarding World. Ron may get on Harry’s nerves sometimes, but he’d never considered them ever not being friends - they’d always make up eventually. Right?

“We’ll be alright,” Harry said aloud, nodding to himself. He ignored the slightly pitying look Sirius was giving him. “We always are.”  
“It’s okay to outgrow people, you know,” Sirius said quietly. Harry pretended not to hear him. “It’s actually quite normal. A secret adults like to keep to themselves.”

Sirius said it so scandalously, Harry was unable to hide his snort.

“It’s not something to fear. When one door closes, another door opens.”  
“What, to the Malfoy’s?” Harry asked derisively.  
“Not necessarily.” Sirius fixed Harry with a mockingly stern look. “I know you believe all Slytherin’s are evil, but come on, mate. They’re not that bad. You’re not shooting hexes at each other, so you and Draco must be getting on alright. Right?”  
“Yeah, but he’s not Ron.”   
“No, he’s not.”

They sat in companionable silence for a few moments, Sirius lost in his own memories, Harry unable to escape his own thoughts.

“You’ll be right,” Sirius announced, clapping Harry on the thigh and standing to exit. “It’ll work itself out.”  
Harry stretched out on the bed and covered his head with a pillow, groaning. “Remind me to never ask you for advice ever again.”  
“What else are dad’s for?” Sirius said cheekily. “Goodnight, dear son!”  
“Goodnight,  _ Dad. _ ”

It felt weird to say it aloud, but it made Sirius laugh loudly, so loud Harry could hear it after he closed the door. Harry rearranged the pillow, clutching it to his chest as he stared at Hedwig morosely.

His future self had come back in time without Ron, but they were still friends - Ron died the day before they changed the timeline. So something had evidently changed. Harry clutched his blankets tightly.

Had he saved Sirius only to lose Ron? 

Harry fell asleep with his stomach twisting, and even though his sleep was plagued with nightmares of losing Ron, Draco and Hermione, and visions of himself from the future stumbling around in the dark alone, there was no reprieve. 


End file.
